


The Twelve Trials of Christmas

by Aelys_Althea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU fifth year, Fluff, M/M, Onlooker Perspective, Sirius Black-centric, discontent, sixth year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:43:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6268174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelys_Althea/pseuds/Aelys_Althea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly six months Harry and Draco had been together. Nearly six months Sirius had had to grow accustomed to the fact. And was he accustomed?<br/>No.<br/>No way in hell. There were some things that a man just couldn't stand for, and his godson dating a Malfoy sat front and centre at the top of his list. But how does one break apart a relationship when the active participants seem to think it is, actually, a relationship?<br/>Sirius was still working on that one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1 – 12:32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and situations belong, fundamentally, to J.K. Rowling. I've simply extrapolated. Thank you, you wonder woman. I make no profit from this work besides my own personal satisfaction.

Christmas was a time for family. A time for appreciating friends and loved ones, for sharing the company of those one truly cared for. In some instances, it was even to avoid those more objectionable characters that would disrupt the peace and to breeze through a day of gift giving, lethargy, and filling one’s belly until it was fit to bursting.

Sirius knew how Christmas was supposed to be. He knew also how bad it could be, having grown up in a household of vastly un-celebratory individuals. He’d similarly experienced how it _could_ be at its very best from his years in the Potter household; those years would always be his ideal, what he would measure everything else up against.

Azkaban had shown him a different side to the festive season entirely. A very different side, and mostly because Christmas more often than not passed without his notice. He’d thought that such a lack of celebration, of festivity, would be the worst possible way to spend the twenty-fifth of December.

He’d been wrong.

A small part of Sirius, that infuriatingly rational, mature-minded part, knew that he was being dramatic. That any mar or tarnish upon the otherwise glowing day could not compare to the darkness that had smothered him in Azkaban. Nothing could ever be that bad.

But the bigger, louder part of him resolutely drew his attention time and time again to one snotty little shitface. His cousin’s spawn was more than a mar. He was a seeping stain upon the pristinely white tablecloth of purity and perfection that _should_ have been Sirius’ Christmas.

The luncheon saw a riot of movement and activity in the dining room of number twelve Grimmauld Place. It was not the first Christmas they’d spent in the once drab, gloomy room – a room that was, admittedly, just liveable even after hours of effort had been dedicated to making it presentable – but it was certainly the most raucous. Not because anyone was being particularly loud, but because there was simply so many people.

The Weasleys stood out amidst the throngs of chattering mouths and mulling bodies, all eight with the absence only of the deliberately-overlooked Percy. Arms clad in Molly’s newly-knitted sweaters reached across the table to ladle spoonful’s of stew onto plates, to slide slices of roast beef onto buttered bread and drizzle gravy over baked potatoes. Half of those redheaded bodies circulated the table for easier access to the dishes, weaving in the dance of accommodation that only family members with years of experience could enact so well.

Other figures, other faces of friends and acquaintances, edged with less fluidity or hunkered in their seats unobtrusively but with equal eagerness for Molly’s exquisite cooking. Remus, with his quiet, tentative steps, was urged into a juggling act of grasping the bowl of buttered peas that Tonks’ nearly flung at him with loud exclamations of, “You need to get some more meat on your bones, you beanpole”. Tonks’ mother, Andromeda, had tagged along that day and nodded her head in approving agreement at her daughter’s sentiment; she had, according to Tonks, made leaps and bounds to reforge their fraying relationship and in recent months had been almost obliging in her consideration of Tonks’ tendencies concerning friendships and life choices.

Kingsley had, at the last moment, accepted the invitation to dine that had been issued a month before. He sat in quiet conversation with Minerva halfway along the table, nearly half a dozen heads from where Sirius was seated at the table head. There was Moody a little further down, attacking a chicken leg with his knife, fork and, confusingly enough, spoon as though it had given him a personal insight, his magical eye whizzing dizzyingly even as he attention appeared focused on nothing but his meal. To his side, Fleur, seated between Moody and her fiancé, pretended not to notice him, though the slight curl of her lip and occasional sidelong glance suggested she was rather averse to his display.

Augusta Longbottom had deigned to accompany her grandson at Molly’s request. Personally, Sirius wasn’t all that fond of the woman – she was a harpy if ever he’d met one – but evidently Christmas was infecting her creaking bones too for she had put a very definite dampener on her sharp tongue. Neville, the neurotic boy usually so jittery whenever even in the same room as his grandmother, seemed almost relaxed as he conversed easily with Charlie across the table.

There was Hagrid directly opposite Sirius at the other end of the table, his booming voice ringing out across the chatter of conversation even as he so obviously strived to moderate his tone. And beside Hagrid, with what Sirius had come to recognise was their usual fond exasperation at the half-giant’s tall tales and overt friendliness, were seated Harry, Ron and Hermione. The ease that filled his godson’s face would have, at any other time, set Sirius’ heart to rest; he wanted nothing more than to see Harry happy.

Except there, seated at his side in all of his stained presence and tarnishing glory, was the bloody blonde ferret. Presumptuous, as if he entirely belonged there.

Merlin, Sirius couldn’t _stand_ the boy. It was entirely the fault of Draco Malfoy that Sirius’ Christmas was shaping up to be, most definitely, his worst yet. Definitely.

“Is the roast perhaps not to your taste, cousin?”

Sirius flinched at the soft, gentle words. Well, it was not only Draco. There were other characters in the room that vexed him almost as greatly.

Turning slowly towards Narcissa, Sirius affixed her with an unblinking stare. “What do you mean?”

Narcissa was always immaculate, always perfectly groomed, just like her son. Seated just to his right, she held an air of grace and elegance even in stillness. Back straight, chin raised, her hair was affixed with not a strand out of place, robes falling perfectly as though she were posing for a portrait. Even the dainty slicing of her knife, the prodding of her fork, was nothing if not at the height of etiquette. She looked out of place on the just-presentable stage of Sirius’ dining room, a cat amongst the pigeons of the Weasley family, of his other guests, of his _friends_. Only those pigeons didn’t even seem to notice the intruder. Or intruders, really, considering Narcissa brought her hateful spawn and almost as hateful husband along with her. Lucius, with his stoic silence and stony expression, couldn’t have looked more out of place if he’d tried.

Sirius’ cousin was looking pointedly and yet somehow not rudely at his plate with an expression of curiosity upon her face. Not rude, no; Narcissa would never be outright rude. But there was disapproval in her gaze. “I only ask because you appear to desire nothing more than to tear your meal to shreds. I was curious, as I had not yet partaken…”

Dropping his gaze down to his lunch, Sirius frowned down at the mess he had unconsciously made. At the torn slivers of meat, the crushed potatoes that had once been merely baked but now resembled mash, and the vegetables that were more a motley stew of contrasting colours than the steam-roasted morsels he’d forked onto his plate minutes before. It was remarkable that it had not all overflown onto the table in a tidal wave of disaster. From the slight amusement in Narcissa’s tone and the tinge of inadequately veiled disgust on her husband’s, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Working his jaw for a reply, Sirius snapped his teeth with a click. “No. No, there is absolutely nothing wrong with the meal. It’s divine. Simply _wonderful_.”

“Is that so?” Narcissa said, her eyebrow arching with almost-sincere curiosity. “Well, that is satisfying to know. Thank you for your contribution.”

The words turned Sirius’ stomach in a discomforting roil. He’d never been fond of his mother’s side of the family, and though Andromeda was companionable enough these days, her sisters were… not. True, Narcissa was not even half as bad as Bellatrix – Sirius would never forgive the woman for nearly killing him earlier that year – and was not nearly half as mad either, but still.

Objectionable. That was the word.

It didn’t help that the Malfoys, for all of their superiority complexes, were actually deigning to attempt to integrate themselves into the Order. Into the side of the Light. Though, Sirius reasoned, it was not like they had much choice given Dumbledore’s ultimatum for offering protection, but still. Sirius didn’t like it. He didn’t like turncoats, not in the slightest. Not even when they turned _to_ his side rather than from.

Untrustworthy. That’s what the Malfoys were. It was a thorn in his side that he had to accommodate them for Christmas at all. It was only Harry’s request that had seen him do so. Still, it didn’t mean he had to like the fact that he was forced into such a discomforting corner.

A full-throated laugh sounded from the other end of the kitchen. Raising his gaze from his battlefield of a lunch, Sirius’ eyes drew towards his godson.

Harry was bodily shaking with laughter, one hand pressed over his mouth in an inadequate attempt to smother the mirth bubbling from his lips. To his side, Hagrid wobbled the table with his own laughter and Hermione fought to suppress trembling chuckles. Only Ron wasn’t nearly catatonic with amusement, but affronted through his expression was – evidently he’d been the butt of someone’s joke – his disgruntlement was only half-hearted and he seemed nothing if not satisfied that his friends found their enjoyment, even if it was at his expense.

It was a picture perfect scene, except for the fact that Draco-sodding-Malfoy consumed a fifth of it. Narcissa’s boy wasn’t shaking with laughter, but he was evidently amused nonetheless. A smug smile spread across his lips, the sort of smile that nearly drove Sirius to his feet to stride the length of the room and smack it from his face. He couldn’t _stand_ the self-satisfaction that radiated like a pungent reek from the brat.

As he watched, a snarl threatening to rumble from his lips, Harry turned towards Draco and leant into him. He said something quietly, too quiet for Sirius to hear and likely meant for Draco’s ears alone. The words, whatever they were, only served to stretch Draco’s grin further. Face a mask of smugness, he said something quietly in reply, leaning into Harry’s ear for better translation. He sealed their secrecy with a kiss to Harry’s cheek. So natural. So assuming.

It made Sirius’ vision flicker red for just a moment.

Worst. Christmas. Ever.


	2. Day 2 – 07:11

He resolved to be in a better mood on Boxing Day. That was Sirius’ intention. Because everybody else was enjoying themselves and dammit, he would too! Even if it meant seeing Harry’s smiling face, talking to him companionably, and knowing that his smile was attributed more to his sodding boyfriend than to anything Sirius may say or do.

            Life was a trial.

            Rolling out of bed at dawn had seen Sirius resolutely fastening a smile upon his face. He pushed aside his lingering negative thoughts about the previous night with an aggressive shove. Today would be better. Anything would be better than last night; the Malfoys had stayed late and Sirius had had to forcibly remove himself from the room for an early night or risk being told by Remus for the third time in as many hours to cease his glaring. He’d missed out on the drunken revelry that had resounded through the floor below him and proceeded to grumble to himself miserably for the few hours it took him to fall into sleep.

            Miserable he would be no longer. Boxing Day would be better than Christmas Day. It would be for him, at least, because he would make it so. No Malfoys hanging around the house, their smug, aloof countenances pervading the air around them in a near-visible smog. It would just be Sirius, Harry, Harry’s closest friends, the rest of the Weasleys… maybe Remus and Tonks if they had chosen to stay the night. Sirius wouldn’t be surprised if they had; Remus rarely drank himself silly but had been known to let loose on that one day a year. It was another thing Sirius regretted about retiring early the previous evening; he’d missed Remus making a fool of himself.

            Slapping his face with both hands to rid it of its gritty rigidity as he sat up in his bed, Sirius took himself into the bathroom adjoining to his room. He didn’t even let the initial stuttering stop and start of the showerhead dissuade him from his resolution to ‘be happy’ that day. And if the water ran a little bit brown for a moment as it spluttered, it always had and likely always would. It hadn’t killed Sirius yet, so why should it now?

Nothing to worry about.

            Making his way down three flights of stairs towards the kitchen, Sirius passed the guest rooms with quiet footsteps. It was a feat unto itself given the creaking capacities of the house’s old wooden floors beneath dusty rugs, the drab walls that seemed to groan in objection at his very passing. He heard the murmur of voices in several of the rooms but tuned out to them, ignoring the distinctive ring of Ginny’s question to a whispering Hermione, the snickers of Fred and George, the cursing of Tonks as she tripped over something, most likely simply in the act of getting out of bed.

            And he likely would have successfully ignored them all had not the bathroom door on the second floor swung open as he passed. Had not the devil himself stepped from the white-washed room in a cloud of steam and the smell of something minty.

            Sirius’ day very abruptly descending into rapid deterioration. _What_ the _fuck_ was he _still doing here?!_

            Draco Malfoy paused in step at the sight of him. Paused, and eyed Sirius flatly with about as much favour as Sirius offered him. Sirius met his gaze for a moment before deliberately running a critical eye over the boy. He was tall, though not yet as tall as Sirius himself, with the musculature afforded from quidditch evident even through his casual robes. He held himself pompously regal, straight backed and chin held high, tilted far enough back that Sirius swore he could almost make out his nostril hairs. Somehow the boy managed to make the towel hanging about his neck, the damp slickness of his hair in lazy yet immaculate styling, look classy.

            Yes, Sirius could recognise that the boy had class. That he had a good posture and fashion sense almost as decent as Sirius himself, even if for some ungodly reason he chose to wear _robes_ as casual wear. That he was a good looking boy, even if his features were a little sharp and his gaze permanently hard. Sirius recognised those favourable characteristics and loathed them. It was just one point more in the boy’s favour. It would have been far easier to have loaded “hideous and deformed” onto Sirius’ list of deterrents to present to Harry should the possibility for debate arise. He had prepared speech that he had not yet had the chance to voice to Harry of all the reasons _not_ to date Draco Malfoy. Starting with the fact that he was Draco Malfoy.

            He just couldn’t stand the brat! Why did he have to stay the night? Of all the unfortunate, infuriating, horrifying things…

            Draco was studying Sirius with as much intensity as Sirius afforded him. Critical? Yes, indeed he was, and Sirius almost felt lacking beneath that gaze. He felt his lip curl and a growl itch to fall from his lips. Before he could say anything, however, Draco spoke.

            “Good morning, Sirius. I hope you’re feeling better this morning.”

            The growl faded, draining down Sirius’ throat in his surprise. He blinked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the boy. “What?”

            Draco inclined his head to the left, gesturing, Sirius realised, to the room Sirius had given Harry situated right beside the bathroom. “Harry said you were feeling rather unwell last night and that was why you retired early.”

            And the growl arose once more. Narrowing his eyes to a near squint, Sirius slowly straightened his spine and folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t play the idiot with me, Malfoy. I think we both know that Harry was just being generous.”

            In an instant Draco’s face fell into a smirk. It was a different kind of smirk to the one Sirius was familiar with; not the aloofly condescending kind, nor the amused yet derogatory sort. He couldn’t quite read this one. “Yes, of course. I was merely… throwing you a bone of sorts.”

            “Is that a pun? Are you trying to be funny?”

            “Please, Sirius, I never _try_ ,” Draco replied. That smirk – it was almost a smile; a bloody self-satisfied smile – stretched wider.

            Sirius’ lip curled. “You watch yourself, boy. You might have everyone else fooled, even Harry’s friends, but not me. I know you’re a little bastard under all your fancy posturing.”

            That damnable smirk didn’t shift an inch. “That’s where you’re wrong, Sirius. I’m not posturing at all.”

            “What the hell do you -?”

            “I’m merely being myself. Because that’s who Harry likes the most.” Draco paused, tilting his head slightly like a bird with a tick. “Just like I’m attempting civility with you because that’s what Harry wants too.”

            Sirius blinked in surprise once more. He felt his eyebrows creep into his hairline and had to struggle not to lose them entirely. “You say you’re –“

            _Thump-thump-thump_

            The trio of strikes to the wall of Harry’s room silenced Sirius in a moment. He and Draco turned in synchrony as a muffled voice rung into the hallway. “Draco, have you drowned in there? Look, I know you’re pedantic about your morning routine but don’t you think that nearly an hour in the shower is a little excessive.”

            Sirius’ tongue froze in his mouth at the words. So casual, so offhanded, as though, indeed, Harry was entirely comfortable with the Malfoy boy. As if they were long-held friends, companionable with one another. Sirius had realised it before, months ago when Harry had first told him who his boyfriend was, but it never made any subsequent reminders any easier to bear.

            Even worse when Malfoy’s smile-smirk returned to his face as he glanced back towards Sirius. When he spoke, however, it was to Harry rather than Sirius, his voice raised to carry. “Why, would you come and rescue me if I was drowning.”

            Harry’s snort was nearly inaudible from the other room. “Not hardly. I couldn’t handle such an incompetent boyfriend, thank you very much. I’d leave you to your fate.”

            “Such love,” Draco sighed loudly as he turned from Sirius and made his way towards the door to Harry’s room. “I can detect your affection beneath your attempts at nonchalance.”

            Harry probably said something else. Sirius wasn’t sure. He was too absorbed in glaring at Draco’s back as the boy paused to open the door, stick his head through first as though making sure the way was clear, and stepped inside. He did, however, make out the muted mutters through the walls, words incomprehensible. And the burst of laughter from Harry that followed.

            His teeth were grinding painfully before he even realised it. _Great_ , he thought. _Simply wonderful._ Not only did the Malfoy boy stay the night and subsequently trespass upon Sirius’ house, but he was already monopolising Harry’s attention from the moment they both woke up. Sirius didn’t like to linger too long on the thought of them waking up at all. Together. In the same bed.

            Draco Malfoy – _Malfoy_ – dating Sirius’ godson? James would be turning in his grave at the very thought.

            Grunting his disgruntlement, Sirius stomped with undue heaviness downstairs towards the kitchen. His day was ruined. _Ruined_. And it was all the fault of Draco-sodding-Malfoy. Of course it would be Malfoy that he would encounter first that day; it set the mood for the subsequent hours of torment whereby he was made distinctly aware of the lack of Harry’s presence, of the cause behind the wide smile he gave Sirius when they finally saw one another at lunch. Sirius couldn’t even find it within himself to offer much of a smile back.

            Harry hardly seemed to notice anyway. And when Draco offered a nod and a word of greeting to Sirius, he positively beamed with approval. As though he were a proud parent at his child’s first quidditch match.

            Sirius was under no allusions. Draco might play nice, but he was certain that the boy held as much dislike for him as was directed towards him. Well, maybe not quite as much; it would be impossible for anyone to dislike someone as much as Sirius held aversion for the boy.

            Still, Sirius replied with as much cordiality as he could muster. And if all that amounted to was a slight pinch in his scowl and a nod of recognition for Draco’s words, well… he was getting there. Slowly. He didn’t want to be on any sort of ‘good terms’ with Draco Malfoy, but he would try for Harry. He would try. And it wasn’t only because Draco had professed that he was doing the same for such reasons.

            Sirius owed it to the boy. He hated the thought of it, but he did owe it to him after what happened eight months ago. And damn him if he didn’t at least try to repay his debts.


	3. Day 3 – 09:14

The snow spitting from the brooding darkness of the sky was a choice reflection of the melancholy that filled Sirius for the third day running. Barely mid-morning and the day was shaping up to be worse than any he had endured since Harry had arrived for the Christmas Holidays.

            Closeted in his room on the top floor, Sirius glared through the ice-fogged glass at the road running alongside his house. His front garden left a little to be desired; if one truly forced the imagination it could possibly be described as resembling a tropical rainforest. Flourishing shrubs and overgrown mounds of hedges, an array of flowers and broad-leafed plants that by all rights shouldn’t be growing in the heart of London. Certainly not in the depths of winter, pervading even through a blanket of snow. They were overgrown and almost obscured the road entirely.

            Almost, but not quite. Not enough to hide the three departing figures from view.

            Harry and Draco walked side by side, almost in perfect step with one another. Their heads, a contrast of black and white, were bowed as though they were talking, turned slightly towards once another. They were nearly of a height, the two of them, and there was not all that much between them in terms of physique. The pair of them wore the long, lean lankiness of adolescence like a fitted outfit. With Harry in his pale jeans and thick jacket and Draco in his dark robes, they were like mirror negatives of one another. Almost clones.

            Except that clones didn’t have that distinctive ‘aura’ about them. An aura that Sirius could make out even from the distance of four stories and half a street.

            “They’re in love,” Remus had said earlier that morning.

            Love? _Love_? The pair of them were barely sixteen, had been dating for not even half a year, and Remus thought they were in _love_?

            “Don’t discredit their feelings just because you’ve never experienced the same,” Remus had rationalised at Sirius’ incredulity. Which had, naturally, resulted in Sirius’ spluttering and exclamations of denial. It was worse because it was true.

            Remus was the Order member on duty to lead the boys from Grimmauld Place. Harry needed an escort, given how dangerous the times were. Even if that escort was only required to take them to the nearest Apparation point and jump them to the coveted and unplottable Malfoy Country Manor.

            It should have been Sirius who was taking them. It should have been. But Remus had insisted after their brief conversation that morning that he be the one to do so. Sirius couldn’t quite come to terms with his reasoning why. Or perhaps he simply didn’t want to. Remus had said something about how Sirius would be “less likely to act appropriately given the circumstances”. Whatever that meant.

            Act appropriately? What, exactly, was the appropriate way to act? Sirius let the Malfoy spawn into his house. Let him share his Christmas, eat his food – or, well, Molly’s food – and sleep under his roof. In his _godson’s_ room. Even if it had been unwittingly so until the next morning. And if Sirius felt the urge to growl once or twice, or found it particularly difficult to utter a civil word to brat, who could blame him? Not only was it Sirius’ responsibility, his duty, to protect Harry as his godson, as the child of his late best friend, but he was entitled to a little bit of resentment, surely.

Because Harry was supposed to be spending time with _him_. Sirius had planned it all, down to their topics of conversation, their frequent bouts of one-on-one quidditch in the closeted grounds he’d scouted out without Dumbledore’s – and Remus’ – knowledge three weeks before. Had pondered the fun they’d have simply spending time together. Getting to know one another as they hadn’t had the opportunity to truly do face to face before now. It had taken a near death experience earlier that year for Sirius to realise just how important that chance was. He wanted to embrace it at every possible opportunity. He’d planned to.

            Draco Malfoy had changed all of those plans. He’d taken Harry away, if not physically until today then socially. He’d ruined everything with his damned smirk. And though Sirius recognised, in a very, very small part of his mind, that he was being petulant, he couldn’t help himself. It simply wasn’t fair!

            And now they were going to Malfoy’s country manor for nearly a whole week. Sirius’ Christmas, bereft of all its plans for companionship with Harry, for developing that godfather-godson bond he had so desperately wanted, was simply depressing. Glaring out the window, Sirius grumbled imprecations beneath his breath.

            “Fucking Malfoy, with his fucking smirk and his stupid hair and his stupid strutting around like he owns the whole fucking place.” He affixed his gaze upon the blonde head nearly disappeared down the street, glaring only harder when he saw Harry throw back his head and laugh in heartfelt amusement. Possibly, infuriatingly, at something his companion had said. He could almost see the self-satisfied twist of Malfoy’s lips that he’d managed to induce as much from his ‘boyfriend’.

            Boyfriend. Lover. The ridiculous concept of ‘soul mate’. Each and every one of them was… appalling.

            Why, _why,_ did it have to be a _Malfoy_?

            And even worse, why the Malfoy who had saved his life? It was one thing to bow down and accept the presence of someone he hated in his house; he could stand it if he had to play nice while knowing that his hatred was warranted. Entirely justified. Acceptable, with no justification.

            But he was _supposed_ to be nice. He was _supposed_ to be grateful. He couldn’t even openly offend the boy, point out his flaws to Harry with any real conviction. Especially given that it was the very act of saving Sirius’ life that had drawn Draco and Harry closer in the first place.

            Sighing, Sirius dropped his forehead onto the icy glass. The coolness did little to ease the heat of anger throbbing in his brow. Rather, it seemed instead to poke fun at the very nature of his discontent. He continued to watch until the distant figure of Remus took a hold of Harry and Draco by one arm each and they Apparated from the scene.

            Definitely the worst Christmas holidays ever.


	4. Day 4 – 14:56

_Tick… tick… tick…_

There was absolutely nothing interesting about the worn old clock ticking away at the far end of the kitchen. Nothing whatsoever.

_Tick… tick… tick…_

Nothing interesting in the slightest. In fact, Sirius was fairly sure it was broken. Surely time didn’t move so slowly as he had observed.

_Tick… tick… tick…_

He’d been staring at the ruddy clock for over two hours. Since lunchtime, in fact, when he’d chased the twins from the square table in the centre of the kitchen with a complaint that they were being too noisy in their plotting and planning. Something about brewing an incredibly powerful hypnotising potion to incorporate into their newest batch of gummy lollies.

Sirius was fairly sure that their mother would have been spitting chips to have heard mention of their intentions.

Being an adult, he probably should have told her.

He should go and tell her now. He should.

_Tick… tick… tick…_

Three o’clock. The hollow chime of the pendulum sounded in three long, slow rings. Then it silenced to the sound of the ticking once more.

_Tick… tick… tick…_

Three-oh…. One.

_Tick… tick… tick…_

There was probably something Sirius could have been doing. Should have been doing. Something other than dobbing the twins out to Molly. Something other than staring blankly at the kitchen clock and listening to the intermittent grumblings of Kreacher as he drifted through the room every now and again. There was probably some Order business or other he could attend to, he was sure. There was always Order business, even so shortly after Christmas. As there should be, given the circumstances. Dumbledore seemed to have an endless supply of missions, of Death Eaters to scout out, of caches to uncover and gossip to sort through for the grains of truth buried amidst the hearsay.

But instead… _tick… tick… tick…_ Sirius was watching the clock… _tick… tick…. tick…_ and regretting every action that led to Draco Malfoy being the one to rescue him at the Ministry of Magic earlier that year.

Everything would have been better if he hadn’t been rescued by the little snot.

Everything would have been fine. He hadn’t _needed_ the help.

Sirius could have taken on his cousin Bellatrix without the assistance of a pubescent schoolboy.

Everything would have been better had Draco Malfoy not been there. Sirius was certain of that. Then Harry wouldn’t have felt the need to drop his rivalry with the Slytherin boy, wouldn’t have discovered that, for some unknown and impossible reason, he sort of, maybe, just a little bit found him tolerable. That he… liked him.

_Tick… tick… tick…_

Sirius didn’t even know _why_ Harry liked him. Was it just that he and Draco were so different? That they, in some twisted way, complimented one another? Was it the forbidden fruit scenario? Sirius had chased after that fruit on more than one occasion in his time; he knew how tempting it was.

Was that it? Or was it something else? Was it…?

Sirius clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, the dank, gloomy kitchen disappearing briefly into blackness.

_Tick… tick… tick…_

Was it the sex? Was that it? Sirius didn’t like to think of his godson sleeping with the Malfoy boy, but he had to be realistic. He’d lost his own virginity at fourteen, and he hadn’t even had a steady girlfriend at the time. It had simply happened. He couldn’t imagine that, being in a steady and – according to Remus, ridiculous as it was – _loving_ relationship for half a year wouldn’t have resulted in some sort of physical intimacy. Harry and Draco were, after all, teenage boys. He shouldn’t expect any less, no matter how he might hope for it.

Sirius hoped it wasn’t that. He hoped it wasn’t just the sex. Even as he hoped almost as strongly that his godson’s relationship wasn’t actually founded on some deep-seeded connection. It couldn’t be, surely, and not only because such a possibility was… was _impossible._ Sirius hoped more because he knew it would certainly be harder to break if such was true.

But then… Sirius hated even more the idea that Malfoy was simply using Harry for physical release.

Dammit, it was such a difficult situation!

_Tick… tick… tick…_

Sirius hated that clock. Hated it with a passion after staring at it for two hours and… seven minutes. He hated the hollow strike of the hands, the regular gong of the pendulum. He even hated the polished, carved wood of the structure, antique that it was with sunflower-like pedalling around the brass face. But he hated it even more for what it represented.

Harry had been gone for little more than a day. And Sirius knew, rationally, that it was because he was dwelling upon the time that it seemed to have been so much longer but….

_Tick… tick… tick…_

Why did time have to move so _slowly_?


	5. Day 5 – 11:31

The report wouldn’t annotate itself.

That was the conclusion Sirius had reached after staring at the scattering of parchments that spread across the kitchen table for three hours. He’d been given the report over a week ago, been told to read it and annotate anything that he deemed noteworthy, and send it back by Guarded Post Owl to McGonagall at Hogwarts.

A week and all Sirius could discern was that his quill very decidedly did not feel inclined to hash out a scratching of sparse words in the margins, not even enough that any passing glance would assume he’d actually comprehended what the report was written about. Something regarding the Carrows and their Yorkshire estate’s potential use as a Death Eater base. That someone had to go and check it out or something.

Sirius wasn’t sure. Couldn’t be certain, as he’d hardly read a word even on the first page. He instead glared at the off-white parchment, the words blurring into smudges before his unseeing eyes, and tapped his quill in time with the clock on the wall. It was almost soothing in its persistence.

_Tick… tick… tick…_

There was a reason for Sirius’ anger that day. Or at least a different reason to his usual, very justified one of hating upon the constant presence of Draco Malfoy. Even his anger was directed alternatively that morning. Mostly. The Malfoy brat would always elicit a vivid red loathing from him. He was sure of that.

No, Sirius’ anger was directed instead to George. Or Fred, given that George maintained it had been _Fred_ who had said it and not he. Sirius didn’t particularly care which it had been. He was just about ready to chew anybody out who even looked at him sideways since those fateful words had been murmured at the breakfast table that morning.

“… a little funny, ain’t it? I mean, I know he’s his godfather and everything, he’s supposed to be all protective and everything, but this is a little extreme. I never quite saw Sirius as being _that_ kind of ‘uncle’.”

The guilty twins – because after three hours of contemplation Sirius had decided to lay the blame upon both of them – had descended into a riot of snickers. That laughter had cut short immediately, however, when a jostling elbow from Ron at their side had alerted them to Sirius’ presence in the doorway.

Suffice to say that the dining room had cleared exceptionally rapidly after that.

Unfortunately, such an abrupt disappearance of people in general, though namely those that Sirius could take his affront out on, had meant that Sirius had been left alone to his thoughts. Retreating downstairs into the basement kitchen, Sirius had seethed. Anger had deteriorated into confusion, which had unfolded into frustration and finally horror.

Was that what people thought? What, that by some sort of twisted sickness of Sirius’ mind he was… that he thought…

It didn’t help Sirius any that he knew he was… just a tad fixated on his attaining the perfect relationship with his godson. But what could anyone expect? Freed from Azkaban, and with Pettigrew out of reach – though not permanently; Sirius still swore that he would end the little rat-man – Sirius was left with time. Headspace. And the resurfacing urge to get to know Harry, the young man who looked so much like his best friend and who he had come to care for so much through knowing for such a short time. Was it so wrong that he would want to act upon that?

Apparently so, according to the twins. For even in jest there was a hint of truth to joking words, just an echo of genuine question. Did everyone see Sirius as obsessed? He’d always been a motivated person, always been wholeheartedly driven in everything he committed himself to. It was what had wound him up in Azkaban in the first place. Sirius had long since come to terms with that aspect of his personality. He was comfortable with it, saw it as much as a benefit to his character as a detriment. Why did others have to see it as something solely _wrong_?

It didn’t help that Sirius’ actions appeared entirely one-sided. Had Harry sought to pursue such a… well, if not father-son relationship then at least the close friendship that Sirius was more than willing to build, it would perhaps have seemed less strange. But Harry was simply distracted. Had lost his ready eagerness to get to know Sirius that had almost been exasperating in its persistence hitherto. His attention had been thoroughly diverted. Since leaving Grimmauld Place two days ago, Sirius had received one owl and one Floo call. Both had been brief.

It was almost embarrassing. And Sirius blamed one person and one person only. Or specifically. He could load the blame onto the rest of the Malfoy’s too, for they surely had a hand in it as well.

Grumbling beneath his breath, Sirius slumped back in his chair with a frown. He tapped the end of his quill onto the parchment with enough force to splay the speckled feathering into splits. It wasn’t fair. Not only was Sirius unable to act to accomplish the one thing that he sorely wanted for that Christmas holidays but now others were adding their skewed perceptions to the situation. What was _wrong_ with the world? Sirius had always been rather fond of the twins, could see a lot of himself in their antics. Troublemakers had to stick together.

Not today. Today, they were very firmly wedged in Sirius’ bad books.

Sighing, Sirius threw the quill down atop the parchment. He’d had such hopes for the holidays. Hopes to get to know Harry, to truly embrace his godfather status and embody both friend and supporter. That was what godfather’s were for, right? He knew he should have acted upon it sooner, been more proactive than the infrequent letters mailed over the past few years, the invitations to Harry to come to Grimmauld Place that were extended but not overtly pursued. The incident at the Ministry earlier in the year had changed his outlook on a lot of things; with his fear rising in an aggressive manner when he’d seen Harry bodily at risk from the cursed Death Eaters, he’d become suddenly aware of just how precious spending time with Harry was. Had been. Should be.

The summer holidays were a bust. Dumbledore had pushed for Harry to remain at his Muggle relatives’ house and only relocated him for the last few days to the burrow. Sirius hadn’t been allowed to go, not even to visit. Harry had come to visit _him_ – once – but Sirius was still under house arrest when not actively participating in a mission. His criminal record was still flying high, making it impossible for him to show his face in public. Sirius had always hated his parents’ house, ever since he was a boy. He’d hated coming home in the summer from Hogwarts into the gloomy, depressing walls of his ancestors.

It didn’t help that being stuck in the house was getting in the way of his plans to become the Best Godfather In The World. And on top of Sirius’ boredom? He’d come to hate the faintly pungent scent of the hallways, of the stuffy rooms and the melody of squeaky doors and creaking floors.

And then Harry had announced that he and Draco were dating. And Sirius had been shunted to the side. Not deliberately, and Sirius was sure that Harry didn’t see it like that. But he’d taken a very obvious seat in the second row in terms of importance to Harry, that much was apparent.

Was Sirius jealous? Yes, he could recognise that he very much was. Not, however, in the way that George – or Fred – had suggested. The thought set his teeth on edge. If only he could prove himself to be friend, mentor, godfather, confidant… something had to change, both through Harry’s eyes and that of the rest of the household. And it had to come from Sirius, because nothing was going to change on the Malfoy front, that much was certain of.

It didn’t help that, if nothing else, the Weasleys at large had come to tolerate Draco. No, tolerate was too mellow a term. Like? Maybe not quite, but it was certainly on the way there. Ron certainly seemed on the brink of recognising Draco as a friend, something that Sirius would have considered impossible a year ago given the stories Harry had told him of his encounters with Draco.

It almost felt like a competition to Sirius. He was competitive by nature, and even irrational as he deemed it – especially considering that he _knew_ he and the Malfoy brat would fill very different places in Harry’s hearts – he still felt that competitiveness rear its monstrous heat and huff indignant steam from its nostrils.

Sirius would win this one. He might acknowledge, in a very small part of his mind, that such an approach to developing his relationship with his godson was not exactly what he should be striving for, but he ignored that rational voice. He would win this one, would beat Malfoy, and when Harry openly expressed an actual desire to share his company, could see fit to detach himself from his boyfriend for long enough to spend time with one of the few people who had known him since he was a _baby_ … George wouldn’t be so fast to call Sirius’ affection ‘a little extreme’ then, would he?

And Sirius knew exactly what he should do.

Pulling a blank sheet of parchment from beneath the spread of reports and carelessly scattering said reports, he hefted his quill with more enthusiasm than he had all morning. It might not be much, might not even amount to anything, but writing a letter would be a start. Glancing at the clock – eleven fifty-five – he set nib to parchment.

 

_Harry,_

_It was great to hear from you yesterday. You sound busy; flying all morning? I confess I’m a little jealous of you. We’ve not much by way of ‘quidditch pitch’ around here but we make do…_


	6. Day 6 – 15:59

The kitchen had become Sirius’ abode. He hated that slowly ticking brass clock at the far end of the room, but it was better than any other clock in the house. The stooped old grandfather clock in what had once been – but was very decidedly no longer – his father’s old study was even worse than that above the dining table. It seemed to chuckle with each slow, lazing chime of its pendulum.

Unfortunately for Sirius, he had discovered that _not_ watching the clock made time move even slower still. After nearly three days of watching it, and in spite of coming to hate it, he’d decided that kitchen clock was his only solution.

He’d begun a sort of rhythmic tapping of the table with each tick. Before each tick, actually. It had become something of a game he’d resorted to, tapping closer and closer to the tick, as close as he could get, and then slamming his fist onto the table a split second before the pendulum sounded its gong. He’d gotten rather good in his timing, actually, at predicting the microsecond before the sound reached his ears.

_Tap-tick… tap-tick… tap-tick… tap-tick…_

_GONG-SLAM!_

“Dammit,” Sirius grumbled beneath his breath, his fingers scrunching the top piece of parchment of the Carrow’s report stacked neatly before him. Unread, of course. He glared at the offending pendulum as it resounded with a trio of successive gongs to announce four o’clock. He was in a bad mood. He knew he was in a bad mood, and also acknowledged that it had a lot to do with the fact that Harry hadn’t replied to his letter yet. Which meant that he was stuck fixating upon the clock and simply… waiting.

And ignoring his Order mission report.

And engaging it in a competition of speed that he was fairly certain the clock was unaware it was involved in. “So close. Fucking clock, it bloody well cheated and it knows it.” Wonderful. Now he’d have to wait for another whole hour before he got the chance to beat the gong again. Next time he would –

            “Sirius, what are you doing?”

            The sound of Remus’ voice drew Sirius’ attention from his glaring match with the clock. Turning slowly, he fixed his gaze upon the ever-weary figure of his childhood friend.

            Time had not done Remus any favours. He had always appeared worn, tired, strained as if the weight of his lycanthropy gnawed at him like a dog worrying a bone. It didn’t help that he constantly attired himself in drab wear, patched and far removed from current fashion trends. Sirius had offered to lend him the money to more adequately support himself, or at least to get himself a new wardrobe, but Remus had always been proud. He’d rather dress himself in a potato sack and live out of a shoebox than accept charity.

            Remus looked even more worn these days with the weight of Order work resting on his shoulders. True, the Death Eaters had been oddly quiet of late since the debacle at the Ministry but as Sirius was want to bemoan, “There’s always work to be done with the Order”. Sirius had recommended that he take a break once in a while – it was Christmas, after all – but as was typical of Remus and his back-breaking work ethic, he stubbornly refused.

            Few people knew how stubborn the man was. Sirius attributed it to his general aura of affability and quietness. Remus was deceptive like that.

            Pursing his lips, Sirius leant back in his chair and dropped his eyes to the table. He didn’t like the mixture of amusement and puzzlement and just a hint of exasperation on Remus’ face. He liked it even less that said expression was directed at him. “What do you mean?”

            Shaking his head, Remus stepped into the room. Closing the door behind him, he skirted the basement dining table until he was directly opposite Sirius and leant casually upon the back of one of the empty chairs “You’ve been in here all day, Sirius.”

            “And?”

            “And all day yesterday.”

            “Your point?”

            “And most of the day before, too.“

            Sirius growled beneath his breath and kicked the leg of the table. The resulting thump wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it should have been. “What are you trying to say, Remus?” It was a struggle to meet his friend’s gaze. That amusement still lingered, not abated in the least by Sirius’ expression of frustration.

            Sighing, shaking his head once more, Remus offered Sirius his crooked smile. “You need to stop this, Sirius.”

            “Stop what?”

            “Brooding.”

            Sirius scowled. “I’m not brooding.”

            Remus dropped his chin to his chest and leant more heavily on the back of the chair. It took Sirius a moment to realise that he was laughing at him. His second kick to the table leg didn’t feel any better than the first. “Really, Sirius, I was trying to spare you.” He glanced up at him once more, his smile widening. “Stop your sulking.”

            Sirius flinched, straightening abruptly in his seat. “I- I am not sulking!”

            “Really?”

            “Really! There’s just nothing… nothing to do around here. I’m just…”

            “You could Floo call Moody. He’s the one that’s handling the missions at the moment.”

            “No, but –“

            “Don’t you have a stack of reports that McGonagall sent you to annotate over a week ago.”

            “Yes, but I can’t –“

            “In failing that, you could join me when I go down to East End this afternoon. Tonks can’t come despite desperately wanting to. I could use the company.”

            “I can’t –“

            “No, of course you can’t,” Remus interrupted him once more. Amusement still rang thickly in his tone. “You simply don’t have the time to spare from all your sulking. You’ve only committed,” he glanced towards the clock at the far end of the room, “nine hours to it today already.”

            Sirius spluttered, struggling to grasp for an objection. “I… you… How do you even know how long I’ve been in here?” He realised as soon as he’d spoken that he’d as good as admitted that he’d been ‘sulking’.

            “Because, Sirius,” Remus said slowly, and the condescension was thick in his tone. Sirius felt his long-held habit of twitching eye arise like an unshakeable itch. “Everyone in the house is aware of how miserable you’ve been the last couple of days. Even Hermione has resorted to asking Kreacher to directly bring food to the dining room so she doesn’t have to come into the kitchen.”

            Sirius frowned. People had noticed he was sulk- that he was brooding? He’d barely spoken to anyone these past days, had barely even seen anyone since Christmas for closeting himself either in his room or the kitchen with his clock. How did anyone even know he’d…? “Well, you’d all be wrong.”

            “What?”

            “I’m not miserable.” At the disbelieving expression Remus adopted, Sirius frowned more deeply. “I’m _not_. What would I possibly have to be miserable about?”

            Remus’ long, narrow fingers tapped a rhythm on the back of the chair he leant upon. He regarded Sirius silently for a moment, and Sirius was left with the distinct impression he was deciding whether or not to douse him in cold water. “We’re not fools, Sirius. None of us. Everyone knows what’s going on.”

            “What do you -?”

            “Stop moping about Harry and get out and do something.”

            And there was the cold water. Eye twitching almost painfully, Sirius pushed himself to standing. Propping his hands flat upon the table he leant towards Remus with an unblinking glare. “I am _not_ moping.”

            “It’s perfectly fine to miss his presence, Sirius,” Remus attempted soothingly. “I know you had plans for this holidays to spend time with him. Obviously it’s upsetting that you –“

            “Of course it is! This was supposed to be the first real Christmas we spent together and –” Sirius abruptly cut himself off. He’d done it again, agreeing with Remus before he even realised it. Pressing his lips firmly, he drew himself up from his lean upon the table. “I’m not upset.”

            Remus snorted. That damned amusement swelled once more. “Wonderful recovery there, Sirius.” He held up his hand as Sirius opened his mouth to reply. “Look, I can understand you are feeling his absence. I know you care for Harry deeply and you simply wanted the chance to get to know him a little better this year –“

            “Damned right I do.”

            “ –though why you decided that this Christmas was so much more important to do so than the last is beyond me –“

            “You know the circumstances of last year -!”

            “- but you’re being selfish.” Remus paused and his eyes widened meaningfully to silence Sirius’ attempt at interruption. “Selfish and childish.”

            The twitch in Sirius’ eye really was painful this time. He struggled to ignore it. Affront didn’t even begin to cover how he felt. “Selfish? _Selfish_? _I’m_ being selfish?”

            “Yes, you –“

            “If anyone’s being selfish it’s that Malfoy brat! He’s the one that bloody well took Harry off to whoop-whoop! Christmas is supposed to be a time for family and he is completely monopolising Harry’s attention.”

            Sirius didn’t like the expression Remus turned upon him this time any more than he had his amusement. It was weary, and the exasperation was more pronounced, but there was also a hint of fondness that put Sirius in mind of a parent listening to the illogical rationalisation of a child. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

            “… what?”

            “Listen to your own words, Sirius. Honestly.”

            “I don’t know what you mean –“

            “Firstly,” Remus held up a finger. “While Christmas may be, in some circumstances, a time for family, _you_ are not Harry’s family. Much and all as I’m sure you both consider yourselves such,” he raised his voice at Sirius’ attempted objection. “What Christmas is truly about is spending time with those you care for, your loved ones. So Harry is spending time with Draco because he cares for him.”

            “Cares more for him than for me?” Sirius grumbled.

            Remus paused, his face flattening for a moment. “Sirius,” he said, and that was all. That single word was enough to induce a cringe in Sirius, to highlight the petulance of his question. Perhaps his comment had been a little immature.

            “Secondly,” Remus continued, as though his listing hadn’t been interrupted. “Draco didn’t ‘take’ Harry anywhere. Harry went because he wanted to. He’s become quite companionable with the Malfoys, I believe. Quite remarkable given their history, but then…”

            “He does _not_ like them,” Sirius ground out. “It’s called being polite. I would have thought you’d at least have been able to distinguish politeness from affection, Remus. Didn’t you see them together after Christmas dinner?”

            “I’m sure I didn’t observe them quite so closely as you did,” Remus nodded, humour resurfacing in his smile once more. “But I did see them conversing for quite some time. And what I saw was…” He paused, though whether for contemplation or in the face of Sirius’ glare was uncertain. He held Sirius’ gaze for a long moment before finally shrugging. “Fine. Have it your way, Sirius. If that belief will make you happy.”

            “It does.”

            “You deserve happiness at Christmas.”

            “I do,” Sirius agreed once more.

            “Everyone does. Even Harry, though some people obviously object to such a possibility.”

            “I…” Sirius frowned. “Of course he does. Who… why should he not be happy?” If anyone even considered upsetting Harry, Sirius would be upon them with bared teeth and sharp claws.

            “You really don’t see it, do you?” Remus’ smile was almost pitying. Sympathetic? No, definitely more pitying. Sirius’ eye twitched indignantly. “You really don’t see what you’re doing?”

            “What? What am I doing?”

            Remus dropped his chin to his chest once more, leaning in a rock of his heels into the back of he chair. He muttered something that sounded exasperated beneath his breath, but Sirius couldn’t quite make it out. When he finally lifted his gaze once more, it was with a resolute expression. As though he’d very deliberately put the previous conversation aside to move onto something else. “Sirius,” he said, and his voice had a ring of demand to it that Sirius had rarely beheld but had always struggled to bow down to in the past. “Harry is happy. With Draco. He is happy. Surely it is not so difficult for you to be happy for him?”

            Sirius blinked slowly at his friend. Warily. Was this a trap? “It’s not…” He pressed his lips together once more. “I just don’t understand why it has to be _Malfoy_? I mean, what is it about the little shit that Harry find so attractive anyway? He’s a right little bastard, rude and mean, not to mention they’ve had nothing if not a tumultuous past –“

            “I believe,” Remus cut in, interrupting him as he was so making a habit of that afternoon. “That it is not our place to know why, but to simply accept the reality of what is. Harry is happy, Sirius, and Draco is a big contributor to that happiness. Are you really going to jeopardise his joy by maintaining and expressing your hatred for the boy?”

            Sirius had no reply for that. For the first time in their conversation – in their argument – he was left without words. Slowly, he lowered himself back into his seat.

            Remus watched him silently for a moment. His head was tilted in contemplation, as though studying an abstract piece of art, and his fingers had taken up their tapping rhythm once more. Then, evidently considering his work finished, he pushed himself from the back of the chair and slowly made his way back around the table. He paused by Sirius’ side as he passed him to the doorway. Sirius didn’t spare him a glance, his gaze affixed on the table, and flinched only slightly when Remus clamped him affectionately on the shoulder.

            “Just think about it for a bit. You’ve certainly got enough time on your hands.” And removing his hand with a brief squeeze, Remus left the room.

            “I…” Sirius began, even though he knew Remus was too far gone to hear him. His mind replayed the words his friend had said: _are you really going to jeopardise his joy by maintaining your hatred…?_ A war of confusion, anger, indignation, sadness and horror waged within him, shrouded in blank detachedness. Sirius’ eyes drifted once more to the distant kitchen clock.

            Four twenty-three.

            He began to tap once more. It was remarkable, really, how that little hand seemed to move so much faster to Sirius for having something on his mind while regarding it.


	7. Day 7 – 23:49

Grimmauld Place was silent, as it was want to be. And yet contrary to its usual silence, the muteness of intentionally hushed voices, the quiet that embraced it on New Year’s Eve was of a different kind.

Sirius had never much been one to celebrate New Year’s Eve. Not that, in his youth, he hadn’t taken any opportunity that presented itself to party and drink until the roof became the floor. But embrace the revelry as he had, it had been in spite of the fact that, to him, New Year’s Eve was simply a celebration that rode upon the coat tails of the jubilation Christmas entailed.

The Weasleys had made a celebration of sorts out of the evening. Sirius hadn’t particularly partaken, had simply watched with quiet appreciation, a firewhisky in hand, as Fred and George let off stream after stream of fireworks from his front garden rainforest. Molly had actually released her steadfast grip upon her disapproval of any Wheezes products for the night and had even appeared to appreciate the show somewhat. She had, however, enforced that they cease with the vibrant explosions by eleven o’clock that night to avoid “disturbing the neighbours”. As if one, the neighbours wouldn’t be up late for New Year’s Eve anyway and two, said neighbours weren’t Muggle and hence unable to see anything that went on in the unplotted grounds of Grimmauld Place. Even the skies were masked from view.

Still, the twins had largely obliged, pushing the bounds of their mother’s limits only by a minute or two simply because they could. And by eleven-oh-five on the dot, everyone had filed back indoors. It was a good thing, Sirius supposed, for the snowfall had begun to thicken and the chill seep through even his heavy coat.

Fred and George had disappeared immediately, and Sirius didn’t think he had to be a genius to deduce that their New Year’s revelries were hardly finished for the night. He had a soft spot for the boys that had rekindled after his affront from the two days before had dwindled. He certainly couldn’t stay mad at them for long, approving of their commitment to mischief-making as he was. Ron, Hermione and Ginny had similarly retreated upstairs, though Sirius was less sceptical as to the nature of their ‘retiring’ than he’d been for Fred and George.

Arthur and Molly had turned to the lounge – dusty and gloomy as it was, it was still better than the kitchen – and Remus had withdrawn with them to chat quietly and superficially over a bottle of mead. Sirius had joined them for a time, before declaring himself tired and taking himself up to bed.

After stopping by the kitchen, that is, because… well, for some reason, he felt the need to check the time. And given that he’d long since destroyed the pocket watch his father had once gifted him – it was coming up to twenty-years since he’d pulverised the thing with a Blasting Charm – and every other clock in the house was simply annoying, the kitchen one was the only option Sirius had.

Surprisingly, the room wasn’t empty when he eased himself through the door. “Oh. Hello, Hermione.”

The Muggleborn girl squeaked and spun on the spot at Sirius’ greeting, her bushy hair seeming to stand on end like that of a startled cat. Holding a hand to her chest as though calming her racing heart, she sighed. “Sirius. You scared me.”

Sirius offered her a smile. “Sorry. Is it so unexpected to have someone else come into the kitchen at midnight for a snack?”

Hermione smiled uncertainly in reply. Sirius was discomforted to see that uneasiness; he’d seen it a bit too much on the faces of his younger friends of late. “Is that what you were doing, then?”

“Something like that,” Sirius replied, his gaze flickering to the clock. Eleven fifty-one. It had been a little over an hour since Harry had gone back to the Malfoys. He’d taken a brief visit from their estate – alongside Draco and an escort of Lucius, naturally – to spend New Years Eve with Sirius and the rest of the temporary residents of the household. He’d even been present for a good portion of Fred and George’s fireworks show, and Sirius had been given the chance to actually talk to him without the listening ear of his boyfriend who was, blessedly, distracted by Ron and Hermione. He’d appreciated those brief moments, his mood remarkably lightened by them. Even if it had been slightly uncomfortable for the simple reason that the chill of winter, the constant fall of snow that had whitened the ground around them, that bit icy teeth through thick jackets.

The cold. Of course that was the only reason for discomfort.

Strangely enough considering their volatile past, the Draco actually seemed to get on relatively well with the pair of Gryffindors. Better than relatively if the genuine laugh that had burst long and hard from Ron at an unheard comment was anything to go by. He didn’t even seem concerned to be landed with their company. Not in the slightest, in fact.

Unfortunately, however, Lucius had spirited the two boys away at half-past ten. Something about the Malfoy family having a tradition of sharing the first seconds of the new year together or some such bollocks. What about Sirius? Didn’t he get a say in the matter? Sure, he didn’t have any ‘traditions’ in place exactly, but he could bloody well start some. Besides, Harry wasn’t even a part of their family. Why did he have to go too?

Sirius would have objected, would have pouted – or pouted more – at the unfairness of the matter had Harry not smiled so happily at Draco when the pointy-faced boy had informed the Weasley’s of their plans for departure. He hadn’t been the only one to express his approval for such family traditions; Molly had been nearly crying as she beamed at the Malfoy brat. And seeing that smile on Harry’s face, a smile of genuine happiness, had brought Remus’ words to mind. _Are you really going to jeopardise his joy…?_

So Sirius hadn’t said anything. He’d wanted to – sorely wanted to – but had restrained himself. It had been difficult, certainly, but he’d managed. Somehow.

He put it down to his soured mood, however, that he’d seen fit to withdraw from the lounge before midnight had even struck. It wasn’t like he was truly participating in the conversation between Remus, Molly and Arthur anyway.

“Can I… help you with something?”

Hermione’s query drew his attention to the fact that he had been regarding her silently for a moment. Much to her evident and continued unease, he realised, as he watched her shift from one slippered foot to another. She was dressed for bed already, nightrobe atop flannelette pyjamas, and was tugging idly at the cuffs of her sleeves in a typical display of nervousness.

“What?”

“Something to eat,” Hermione clarified. “Kreacher isn’t here; I don’t know where he’s gone but… he’s not around if you’d…”

Sirius shrugged, stepping towards the pantry to make good his claim of ‘getting a snack’ though he hardly felt the inclination for one at all. “That’s alright. He most likely wouldn’t get me anything should I ask it of him. And if he did, it would probably be something mouldy or maggot-ridden.”

Hermione gave a neutral “hmm” in reply that Sirius took to mean “I don’t agree with the disrespect I perceive from your words but I can’t exactly fault your reasoning”. The girl was as heartfelt as ever about her stance on house elf rights, despite the dubious opinions of her friends. Malfoy included, in fact, if what Sirius had overheard of their brief yet volatile discussion at Christmas was anything to go by; apparently the little snot considered that house elves had a right to serve if they wanted to, and that it would be cruel to deny them that desire.

It was probably the only thing that Sirius and Draco agreed upon. Would ever agree upon. Sirius had, in that moment, made the resolute decision to _never_ bring up house elves in the very unlikely chance of a civil conversation with Draco. He couldn’t risk having to agree with the boy.

            “Did you have a nice night?” Sirius asked over his shoulder as he rummaged through the pantry. He popped open a tin to the smell of sugar and shortbread and filched a handful of biscuits from inside. They were, thankfully, free of mould. _Keep the conversation neutral. Away from Harry, away from Draco,_ he chanted in his head.

            Hermione had settled herself to lean back against the kitchen bench. She’d picked up a cup of tea from behind her – what she’d evidently come to the kitchen for in the first place – and was cradling it between her hands gently. “Yes, thank you. Fred and George’s fireworks were fantastic.”

            “They’ve got a knack for them, that’s for sure,” Sirius agreed around a bite of biscuit. He leant back against the pantry door and tried to ignore the stilted tone of Hermione’s voice. He didn’t need the memory of Remus’ words to understand the nature of her awkwardness; he’d deduced that his… behaviour was something of an uncomfortable wall between himself and the rest of his houseguests at present. “Its no wonder their shop’s going so well, really.”

            “Mmm.” Hermione took a sip of her tea. “It’s just a shame that Harry and Draco had to leave so early. I mean, their finale was pretty spectacular. I wonder how they managed to change the colours like that?”

            Sirius fought the urge to flinch at the mention of Harry. Well, so much for his decision to steer clear of the topic of his godson – a topic that was just about permanently affixed in his mind at present. He knew that should he start he would likely conclude with a long-winded rant to the girl concerning her ‘friend’. And not the Gryffindor one. “Yes, it is a shame, isn’t it? But then… I suppose if he really wanted to go back to the Malfoy’s house…” It was like a physical strain to push the consideration from his lips. A struggle and dammit, Sirius truly wished he could deck the Malfoy brat. Just once.

            Maybe twice.

            He took a savage bite of his biscuit.

            Hermione narrowed her eyes as she observed him over the rim of her mug. Her lips quirked in a tell tale sign of thoughtfulness, and Sirius knew he had to prepare himself for what was to come, even without expressly guessing her words. “That’s… a very mature way of seeing things,” she said slowly.

            Sirius snorted in a spray of biscuit crumbs. “You sound like Remus.”

            “Is that a bad thing?”

            “No. Just that I’ve heard it all before.”

            There was a brief moment of silence between them, broken only by the quiet sounds of Sirius’ crunching and Hermione’s sipping. She lowered her steaming mug again after a minute or two. Sirius was surprised to notice that, quite abruptly, that uneasiness that had lent tension to her posture had eased somewhat. “Would you like to talk about it?”

            Sirius paused mid-bite. “Talk about what?”

            “About Harry and Draco.”

            Another pause. “Why would you think I wanted to talk about it?”

            “Perhaps ‘want’ is the wrong choice of words,” Hermione muttered, eyes dropping down towards her tea. She tapped one finger lightly upon the side of the mug, the ceramic ringing faintly. “I just figured, as an outside observer to their relationship myself, you might find it easier to talk to me about it than to Harry.” She paused. “Or Draco.”

            Sirius barked in surprised laughter. “Yes, you might be right about that.” _Certainly about Draco,_ he thought. Talk? To Draco? Willingly? Not likely.

            “Well?” Hermione glanced up at him once more. Her expression was expectant, curious, and yet somehow not intrusive. It was a strange visage, and one that Sirius had observed before, if only from a distance. He attributed its nature to that of one possessing an undying thirst for knowledge; she seemed entirely capable of observing a situation without becoming emotionally invested.

            Sighing, Sirius slumped more heavily upon the pantry door. He probably shouldn’t talk to Hermione about it all; Harry – and Draco, for that matter, mind-boggling as it was – were her friends. She shouldn’t have to hear of his… difficulties coming to terms with the nature of their relationship. And yet Sirius felt within him the sore and desperate need to get his woes off his chest. Remus, for all of their shared history, wasn’t sympathetic towards his plight. Or perhaps it was because of their shared history that he lacked sympathy.

            For some reason, Sirius felt as though Hermione wouldn’t be quite so hard-hearted towards expression of his woes. That thought, like a plug pulled from a bath, loosed Sirius’ thoughts in a blurting release. “How can you stand him?”

            Hermione blinked in surprise for a moment before a small smile settled on her lips. She tried, and failed, to hide it behind a sip of her tea. “Draco?”

            “He’s insufferable! Smug, self-centred, sarcastic little shit. And on top of that he’s a Malfoy. It’s common knowledge that they’re a bunch of two-faced, lying, manipulative bastards. Everyone knew that when _I_ was in school. And you guys were enemies before this year, weren’t you? Because he was a right arse? What happened to all of that? Dammit, he’s a _mean kid_. How can you even tolerate him?!”

            Sirius hadn’t realised how loud his voice had become until his finished his brief tirade and the echoes of his words still rung through the empty, dimly lit kitchen. He felt no inclination to withdraw them, however. Even almost crass and perhaps a little too honest as they were, he felt them entirely honest and justified. Maybe he shouldn’t have said as much to Hermione – what with the whole friend issue – but… well, she had asked.

            To her credit, Hermione didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. She failed to hide her widening smile behind her mug once more. “I can understand where you’re coming from. We did used to be, um… well, I suppose ‘enemies’ is as good a term as any, but I think schoolyard rivals probably fits the bill a little better.” She shrugged. “And you’re right. We had our moments. Many moments that I can recall only too well, and certainly unfavourably. In a lot of ways Draco is smug, and selfish and a bit of an arse. And he’s most definitely sarcastic; I don’t think I’ve heard more than a sentence from him that didn’t at least have undertones of sarcasm.”

            “Then why?”

            Hermione shrugged. “Because through all of that, even considering that a lot – and I mean a _lot_ – of our opinions differ, and that he was a bit of an arse to me when we were younger, he’s not actually bad person.”

            Sirius snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding with me.”

            “I’m not,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. “He’s really not all that bad. And Lucius and Narcissa… well, I don’t exactly have as much faith in their goodness as I do in Draco’s but they’re making a concerted effort to be less… um…”

            “Evil?” Sirius supplied.

            Hermione raised a hand to her mouth to hide her laughter. “I suppose that’s one word for it.”

            Sirius stared at the young witch incredulously as she blew on her tea. “Am I missing something?”

            “Hmm?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

            “Harry told me last year that you’d all been rivals since the very first day of school. That you’d all but hated one another. He told me how Draco would always taunt and bait him, tease him and disrupt their classes. They used to duel in the hallways between classes, for Merlin’s sake! What about the incident with Buckbeak? Wasn’t that _right_ after Harry had just had such a great time with the him, like he did it deliberately then, just to be an arse? What about all of that?”

            Hermione cringed slightly at the mention of the Hippogriff. Understandably; everyone knew Buckbeak was a sore spot for Sirius. He’d gotten close to the beast over the years. She composed herself a moment later, however, and surprisingly it was to replace her cringe with exasperation. “Yes, there is that. All of that. But think about it, Sirius. If not hatred, what do all of those actions tend to suggest?”

            “What? How is it anything but hatred?”

            “Looking at it from a purely objective point of view,” she continued as though he hadn’t spoken. Her words, the turn-a-phrase, suggested that such a perspective was one she’d assumed on countless occasions before. “If you were told that no, in fact, Harry and Draco didn’t hate one another, what would that behaviour look like to you?”

She paused, peering expectantly at Sirius. He stared back uncomprehending. “What does it look like? What do you mean?”

Hermione sighed. Her eyes drew to the ceiling as though she questioned the heavens. “Am I really the only one to have made this connection myself?” She shook her head and turned her attention back towards Sirius. “It’s attention seeking behaviour at its finest, Sirius. Mostly from Draco, mind. He was trying to get Harry to notice him.”

“Trying… to get Harry…”

“Draco’s been infatuated with Harry for years. And I’m pretty sure Harry’s been the same, even if he hasn’t realised it.”

Sirius was stunned. His mouth opened and closed in a feeble attempt to speak but no words came forth. His twitch began to tweak in one eye but he barely even noticed it. “What? No way –“

“Yes way,” Hermione countered. “Really, isn’t it obvious? Think about it, Sirius; how many times in your life have you teased or picked on a girl you like to get her attention?”

“I didn’t…” Sirius began before trailing off. Yes, actually. When he considered it, he recalled that persistent attempts to poke fun at the object of his desires had been a prime mode of gaining attention. Because any attention, even bad attention, was better than none at all. It had been a technique unconsciously adopted by many of Sirius’ schoolmates, too. Hell, James had done exactly the same with Lily, and everyone had known for years before they’d actually gotten together the reality of the situation. “Are… are you serious?”

Hermione nodded. “Draco actually admitted to it. He’s surprisingly shrewd when it comes to reading behaviours, even if they’re his own. In retrospect, though, of course. I doubt he knew any more than anyone else what he was doing at the time. But he admits that yes, he’s probably fancied Harry for a long time now.”

Sirius shook his head. “That’s not how enemies work.”

“I think that’s the whole point. They weren’t ever really enemies. Or at least, their antagonistic behaviour was acting out for other reasons. In Draco’s case, a little bit too far at times. But I don’t think those reasons got a chance to show themselves until this year; when Draco saved you, I think it was almost an excuse to put aside years of mutual ‘hatred’ and try for something else.”

The twitch in Sirius’ eye became more pronounced at the mention of Draco’s ‘heroic behaviour’. He fought to swallow back the distaste that arose with the mention of it. “It still doesn’t change the fact that the kid’s a right little arsehole. He doesn’t deserve Harry.”

There. He’d said it. Sirius wondered instantly that it had taken him so long to verbally announce his true objection. His ultimate conclusion. It was so obvious. He realised, in that moment, that he’d never actually voiced his exact thoughts on the matter. But there it was: as simply as that, Draco didn’t deserve Harry. Surely the situation, Sirius’ opinion and his _justified_ perspective, would be apparent to everyone now?

Not, apparently, to Hermione, he realised as his attention drew towards the young woman regarding him quizzically. She looked considering, contemplative, as though a thought hitherto disregarded had arisen to the fore once more. She took a sharp breath to speak but paused for a moment longer before utterance. “Is that… why you have such a problem with their relationship?”

“What?” The answer to Hermione’s question was so obvious Sirius almost didn’t know how to reply. “Because I think Draco’s not good enough?” At Hermione’s nod he stuttered with the speed his words tumbled from his lips. “Of course it is! The little bastard doesn’t… he doesn’t… he can’t…”

Hermione raised a quelling hand. She looked far older and wiser than her years would suggest. “I didn’t mean it like that, Sirius,” she said calmly. Almost soothingly, to Sirius’ disgruntlement. He wasn’t a wolf with hackles raised to be so placated by a gentle pat to the head. “I just meant that, other than that, you don’t have a problem with it?”

“Other than that?” Sirius blinked in incredulous confusion. “ _Other than that?_ What more could there bloody well be? Malfoy’s a right little tosser, his family’s a lying, cheating bunch of Death Eaters, and he doesn’t deserve Harry!”

Contrary to the vehemence of his words that Sirius registered was almost aggressive, Hermione smiled. It was a smile, surprisingly, of approval. “Oh, there is a surplus of other reasons, Sirius, I can assure you. And Harry was really worried about… some of them in particular. It was why he took so long to tell you he was dating Draco in the first place.”

Sirius flinched at the reminder. He _hated_ the notion, was physically pained by the idea that Harry hadn’t told him that he’d been seeing the Malfoy brat until a full two months after they’d officially been ‘together’. And when he had, it had been through a letter so riddled with ums and ahs, dancing around the actual subject and admittance, that Sirius had only truly understood what he’d been trying to say after a third read.

It had floored him. Horrified him. Malfoy? Draco Malfoy? Of all the sodding kids at school, out of all of his peers, Harry had to choose _Malfoy_ to date? It didn’t matter that Harry said the boy had changed, was changing, for the better. It didn’t matter that he’d acted directly against his father orders from Voldemort earlier that year, had hastened to the Ministry when he’d realised Harry and his friend’s were going to the site of ambush and somehow managed to arrive just in time to divert his crazy aunt’s attack upon Sirius. It hardly mattered that he’d used his knowledge of his father’s supposedly unwilling involvement in undercover operations to help the Order and, in doing so, thwarted Voldemort once more.

Those facts actually made it all the worse. It almost made Harry’s decision seem reasonable. Which it _wasn’t._ Of course Sirius would be disgruntled by the fact. What else would anyone expect?

Evidently, Hermione was thinking something else, had another concern in mind. “What are you talking about ?” He asked with a frown.

Hermione bit her lip, fiddling awkwardly with her mug. “I probably shouldn’t say… Harry wouldn’t want me to –“

“Oh, spare me, Hermione. If you truly felt such qualms then you wouldn’t have brought up the subject in the first place.”

The glare the girl directed towards Sirius came straight from Mrs Weasley’s repertoire. He didn’t let it faze him anymore than Molly’s did. “Fine. If that’s how you’re going to be about it, Sirius, then I won’t spare your feelings.”

“Please, go right ahead and fill me in,” Sirius replied with a roll of his eyes. He honestly didn’t care about Hermione’s stung pride and discontent in that moment; he was on the verge of discovering why Harry had felt the need to withhold the changing nature of his relationship status from him. Even if it was with Malfoy Junior, surely he should have been able to tell Sirius?

Hermione huffed, very deliberately turned and placed her mug down on the counter, folded her arms and lifted her chin haughtily. Sirius almost acted upon his urge to roll his eyes once more until she spoke. “He didn’t want to tell you – or anyone for that matter – because he was worried you’d be disgusted by the fact that he was dating another boy.”

Silence ensued.

There it was. Just like that, Hermione explained it all. In such a short phrase, she summed up the apparent reason for Harry’s hesitancy.

Static silence crackled in the air. The ticking of the clock on the wall above them was the only sound that broke through their face off. Hermione’s gaze was resolute, daring Sirius to speak a word wrong, while Sirius…

Sirius felt like he’d been hit by a _Confundus_ Charm. Confused didn’t begin to cover it. He didn’t… what? What Hermione had said, the reasoning… it didn’t make sense. “Why… wha- why would he think that?”

In the part of his mind that wasn’t short-circuiting at an absolute loss, Sirius registered that Hermione strove to maintain her haughtiness. Tried and failed, obviously deflected by Sirius’ response. She sighed heavily. “I tried to explain this to him, but he had difficulty coming to terms with it. I can hardly blame him; the situation’s appears different when it directly concerns you as opposed to observing as an outsider. I’m sure that if I was in a similar fix, I’d be just as worried as he was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean, Sirius,” Hermione enunciated with slow, deliberate words. “That Harry was worried you’d hate him for coming out as gay.”

Sirius shook his head in a spasm, the words ringing uncomprehending in his head. “Why would he even think that?” The sentiment baffled him.

“It’s not entirely irrational to consider,” Hermione argued, frowning as she defended her stance. “It’s not a problem in the Wizarding world, but to many Muggles being homosexual is considered a sin.”

“A sin?”

“Unnatural. Wrong. A heinous crime. You get the idea.” She shrugged, though her shoulders were tense. “I personally can’t comprehend it; to me, gender has very little to do with the degree or nature of affection one person holds from another. But other people? Other Muggles or even Muggleborns?” She shook her head. “From what he’s said of the Dursleys, I get the impression that his Muggle relatives fall into the category of ‘disgusted persecutors’.”

A sharp spike of hatred arose within Sirius. For a moment his vision blacked out and all he could see was his long-ago, distant and blurred memory of the Dursleys from Lily and James’ wedding. Hatred unlike any he’d felt for… for a _long_ time arose. Different to that he felt for Pettigrew. For Voldemort. Not any greater – no, that would be impossible – but very definitely hatred all the same. He bit back the urge to spin from the room and charge over to Little Whinging to pay the bastards a visit. “And Harry was worried I’d think so too?”

Hermione’s frown became more worried than disgruntled. “I don’t think, in his heart, he truly believed you would.”

“Well, so he shouldn’t –“

“But it was very definitely a fear nonetheless, even irrational as it was,” Hermione continued, speaking over him without regard. Sirius suppressed the urge to grunt his disgruntlement at her presumption. Whatever happened to respect for one’s elders?

“He doesn’t think so anymore, though?” When Hermione hesitated, he frowned. “He doesn’t, does he?”

Slowly, Hermione shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” At Sirius’ deepening frown, she shook her head with more certainty. “No, I’m sure not. But it must be hard, going back upon years of thinking anyone would be shunned for simply being that way.”

It was incomprehensible to Sirius. Hating someone, being disgusted with someone, for their sexuality? Where did such a notion even come from? What right did anyone have to judge others relationships?

And Harry thought that Sirius had a problem with it? What the…? Sirius was very definitely straight, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t experimented a little in his youth. It would not only be irrational but entirely hypocritical to express aversion towards Harry’s relationship for such a reason. Especially when there were so many other reasons to object.

“Don’t worry, Sirius,” Hermione interrupted his thoughts. “It’s nothing against you that he thought that way. You know that I only found out by chance? He didn’t even tell me or Ron himself. We had to just find out.” She paused, a deprecating smile touching her face briefly. “Well, I found out. Ginny had to tell Ron because he was so oblivious.”

“Ron didn’t guess?”

“No. Oblivious,” Hermione repeated. “It was even more embarrassing for him because he and Harry spend every other minute at school with one another. It would have been impossible for him to miss that Draco was simply around more.”

Shaking his head, Sirius dropped his gaze to his hands. They were curled into fists, and he detachedly noted that the last of his biscuits were crushed to a crumbly pulp between his fingers. When had that happened?

“Don’t feel bad about it, Sirius. It’s not like anyone’s at fault –“

“I know,” Sirius said. It annoyed him that Hermione felt the need to comfort him, but he couldn’t seem to put any heat in his words. “I know. I’m not angry.”

“Upset?” Hermione asked. Sirius flickered his gaze towards her. How did she get so detached from the situation? She observed him with curiosity, almost dispassionately, as though she hardly considered the emotion blow he’d just undergone.

“I… no, not upset. Just… thinking.” Yes, thinking. He had a lot to think about. This changed a lot, this simple yet vastly complex fact that Hermione had provided him with. Because Harry had been nervous about telling Sirius he was dating Malfoy not because it was _Malfoy_ but because Draco was a boy. He’d been scared, even, of what his friends would think of him for coming out as gay. Which meant that his choice of partner was more specific than simply taking on anyone who cared to give it a go. Hesitancy in seeking a partner, for whatever reason, didn’t manifest itself in willy-nilly pleasure seeking and casual relations.

And couple that with Remus’ words, about Harry’s happiness… Sirius was thoroughly disconcerted.

This added an entirely new dimension to the circumstances. Not only was Sirius to face the difficulty of the fact that his godson was dating a complete arsehole, that said arsehole monopolised his time and very deliberately – Sirius was sure – bereft Harry of the chance to spend time with his other friends and family, but Harry had chosen him. Specifically. As though yes, as Remus had said, Draco Malfoy made him happy.

It was wrong. Sirius knew this much. There was so much wrong with James’ son dating a Malfoy that he couldn’t even begin to start with compiling an explanation, even in the privacy of his own thoughts. Potter and Malfoy were like… they were like… chalk and cheese. Black and white. Total opposites on the social spectrum. Harry, removed from the Wizarding circles and any overt complexity they harboured, wouldn’t understand that, Sirius was sure. Which left Sirius as the only one to break it to him, as evidently the Malfoys didn’t see fit to do so themselves.

Unfortunately, Sirius couldn’t quite find it within himself to do that. Not quite yet, anyway. He wasn’t entirely certain that such a conversation would benefit his situation with his godson. It might, quite contrarily, cause a rift. And Sirius didn’t exactly have the leeway to fall prey to an argument between them. He wasn’t, much to his distress, quite close enough to Harry risk the distance that even a brief spat could induce.

“Sirius?”

Blinking back into awareness – how long had he been lost in his thoughts? – Sirius glanced back up at Hermione. She was frowning, her objective detachedness discarded and a tinge of concern colouring her features. She leant towards him slightly, peering at his face as though attempting to read his thoughts from his expression. “Are you alright?”

Alright? Sirius wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if he’d truly been alright for a long time, though admittedly the cause of his distress had been for very different reasons in the past. Voldemort, his friends’ deaths, Pettigrew, Azkaban… Then the situation with Harry and the Malfoy brat. When he considered it, it sounded entirely ridiculous to put something as commonplace as his godson’s relationship on the same level with everything else. With the entire list of his other worldly worries.

It was all relative, though. Because in that moment, with the threat of Voldemort present but distant and untouchable, Pettigrew out of sight, Azkaban put firmly behind him, it was the worry that was most immediate. And now another layer of distress had been added to that worry.

So alright? No, Sirius was not truly alright. He doubted he’d be alright until the day that Draco Malfoy very firmly announced that not only would he never set foot in Grimmauld Place again but that he would get his undeserving arse out of Harry’s business. But Hermione didn’t have to know that.

“I’m fine, Hermione,” he muttered. His voice was faintly hoarse but he cleared it nonchalantly and swallowed the distaste that had settled on his tongue. He wanted to grumble, to dispute, to bemoan the added complexity to his situation with Harry, a complexity that only seemed to only grow with each arising hurdle. But he wouldn’t do that to Hermione. Not because it wasn’t fair to the young woman so much as because… it was just a little embarrassing, to express such discontent to a girl so much younger than him. It made him seem almost childish. “Thank you for your help, Hermione. It has been an enlightening conversation.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at him. “That’s quite alright. I mean…” And all of a sudden her maturity seemed to waver and she became a stuttering schoolgirl once more. “I mean… I just thought that… well, maybe if you understood a little more you’d maybe…”

It was a struggle, but Sirius managed to produce a strained smile. “You’re right. It did help. I really appreciate it.” His smile became easier as he continued reflectively with, “even though you obviously felt uncomfortable doing so. Am I really so hard to talk to?”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed and she glanced to the side uncomfortably. “It’s not… it’s not that you’re hard to talk to. It’s just that…”

“Yes?”

She shuffled slightly in her lean against the counter, her slippers scuffing the ground. “You just seem a little averse to talking to people lately.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she nodded fervently. “I get the impression you’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong. Sirius forced himself to shrug casually. “Maybe. But I do appreciate you taking the time to talk to me. Thanks.”

Hermione’s flush faded into a beaming smile. “You’re welcome. Any time.”

“I might hold you to that,” Sirius muttered, but he wasn’t sure if Hermione even heard him. Turning back to the counter, she remained in the kitchen only long enough to quickly rinse her mug and set it on the drainer before smiling to him once more and shuffling from the room. The kitchen door clicked shut behind her as she disappeared into the hallway.

Sirius didn’t move immediately. He was lost in thought, staring blankly at the stained tiles of the floor beneath. The grittiness of crushed biscuit in his hand gradually dissipated as his fist lost its tension, scattering the floor with crumbs. He barely even notice. There was far too much going on in his mind, too many questions, considerations, thoughts to ponder. An upwelling of feelings he hadn’t even considered arose, with guilt and remorse at the forefront. Was his relationship with Harry so tenuous that he didn’t feel like he could share his thoughts and feelings with Sirius? Did he truly think that Sirius would think any less of him for dating a boy? Had Sirius been so inept as a godfather than Harry would have so little faith in him?

Lost as he was in his thoughts, Sirius was entirely detached from his surroundings. Anyone could have come into the kitchen, even Kreacher with his distinctive grumbling, and Sirius likely wouldn’t even have noticed. It was only when the jarring _GONG_ of the pendulum from the clock on the wall sounded that he drew himself from his listless staring. He glanced at the offending source of the noise.

One o’clock. He’d missed the rollover for the new year. Missed it by a good hour, in fact. He hadn’t even heard the pendulum sound its twelve chimes of announcement, so absorbed had he been in conversation with Hermione.

That was saying something. Sirius had become rather attuned to the sound of that gong over the past few days.

Shaking his head, mind abuzz with thoughts and considerations perhaps even more thickly than had been the day before after Remus’ words, he turned from the room. Sirius didn’t expect to fall to sleep immediately. He would be surprised if he got much of a semblance of shut-eye at all that night. He had a lot to consider, some thoughts to put in order. And, unfortunately, a good portion of those thoughts involved, at least to some degree, Draco Malfoy. Sirius was coming to the conclusion that he’d find himself with such unfortunate circumstances when considering Harry for at least a while ensuing.

 


	8. Day 8 – 10:22

Wednesday, the first day of the new year, dawned brighter and cheerier than those before. The sun actually shone, parting the grey clouds and making a hearty effort to melt the layers of snow that heaped every front lawn, that coated the road in a slick carpet of ice.

Sirius was surprisingly less the worse for wear given his limited sleep. True to his suspicions, it had been rather difficult to fall prey to the oblivion of unconsciousness. He’d not managed even a wink until after three o’clock that morning, but he wasn’t feeling any worse for it, even awaking at his usual sprightly hour. Springing from his bed, Sirius set about his routine with determination.

            He’d made a resolution. Hardened his resolve and reached a conclusion. Something had to change between he and Harry; the dynamics of their relationship, that Harry would feel too wary, too discomforted, to confront Sirius about his personal life, was concerning. That he had thought, even if only a little, that Sirius would be disgusted with him for liking another boy at all was… it was horrifying. Mortifying. Certainly upsetting, to put it in its mildest form.

Sirius wanted to be there for his godson, and not only for his own peace of mind. Not only to placate his desire to build a friendship with the boy. Harry surely needed someone too, and though Sirius had never particularly seen himself as a parental figure – he’d always considered Remus to be the more suited of the two of them – he would attempt to fill those shoes. For Harry. He would change, would act differently.

That didn’t mean that he accepted his godson’s relationship with the Malfoy brat. Not in the least. But if, even temporarily for some unknown and inconceivable reason, it was making Harry happy, then… Sirius wouldn’t object. Not out loud, anyway. He would still hope for nothing so much as Harry to realise reality, to come to terms with the fact that he was far too good for a Malfoy. A conniving, deceptive snake of a Malfoy. He’d hold hopes that Harry would eventually understand that he could do far better.

But Sirius had reached the conclusion that it wasn’t his place to tell him so. That if he did, it would only distance him from Harry further, would most likely push him into greater irrational fondness for his bastard of a boyfriend. And that, as much as the possibility of Harry losing affection for Sirius, was something he would not stand for. He wouldn’t lose anything further to Draco-bloody-Malfoy.

So Sirius would remain subdued. Would no longer openly object. He wouldn’t attempt to rationalise with Harry in stilted roundabout conversations that Harry seemed blissfully unaware of the subject of. He wouldn’t play nice with Malfoy – he doubted he even could – but no longer could he express open animosity to him.

To ignore. That was Sirius’ only option. So long as he could ignore the smug irritant of a boy, he could work at other areas of his difficulties. That was his intention, anyway.

With such a mindset, Sirius faced the day with a forced smile that became gradually less forced as the morning went on. A big contributor to that easing of his struggles lay in that Harry had finally sent an owl back at ten o’clock that morning with profuse apologies for not replying sooner. Apparently he’d been in the middle of ‘something’ and had simply forgotten. Sirius tried not to dwell on those words too much. But even better than that, even better than the brief missive in his godson’s scrawl of handwriting, was the postscript.

Harry had asked if he and Draco could come back and spend the final days of the holidays at Grimmauld Place. Together? Not so delightful, but Sirius could live with that. He could. Probably.

But the cherry atop his unexpectedly growing sundae of satisfaction was that Remus had said he could go and pick them up himself. Sirius didn’t think he needed permission, except that he was still technically on ‘house arrest’. Remus spoke for the Order in this instance at least; he’d said that his trips down to East End had largely been inconclusive and as such he needed to spend even more time down there. Sirius didn’t feel the least bit sorry for his friend; he’d accepted the mission after all. But mostly, he was simply ecstatic that he could be the one to pick Harry up. Even if it did mean that he would have to interact with his cousin and her husband.

The thought drew a shudder from Sirius despite his attempts to overlook the foreboding it presented. He would be jovial, dammit, and if that meant playing nice with Narcissa for a time… well, he would encourage Harry to leave post haste.

So at twenty past ten, with the coordinates for the Apparation point nearest Malfoy Country Manor firmly in the forefront of his mind, Sirius set out from Grimmauld Place. He didn’t think it was his imagination that the open air of the street smelled so sweet. Anything would smell sweet compared to the cloying dankness of his family house. And it was with a smile that he magicked himself from the curb.

It took barely a second to recover from the familiar crushing pressure of Apparation. Glancing around himself, Sirius had to roll his eyes with a snort. Picture perfect? Yes, the countryside surrounding the Malfoy’s country manor could be termed as such. Rolling hills spotted with skeletal deciduous trees, shrouded in gowns of white snow that reflected the smooth spread of pristine whiteness around them. The echoing trill of birds revelling in the morning sunlight was almost cliché for the ambiance it created. And there was not a spot of humanity to mar the scene save to the Malfoy cottage perched atop one of the distant hills.

Well, cottage in the old-fashioned sense of the term. Sirius could accept that many purebloods considered the sizeable estate as being relatively modest given that he’d been brought up to think in such a way himself. But he knew too that most people nowadays, wizards and Muggles aike, would have lifted their eyebrows dubiously at such a description. The cottage would easily house a family of a dozen with only one or two having to share bedrooms. And that was discounting the numerous living rooms, expansive kitchen, parlours and libraries that would no doubt consume the rest of the house. From where he had Apparated to, Sirius thought he could even see a barn of sorts huddled to the side of the cottage, though he sincerely doubted it actually held any animals within, magical or otherwise.

Small the cottage may be compared to the inner city Malfoy Manor, but realistically? Small it was not.

Sirius stomped with high steps through the snow towards the house, stumbling only twice over the occasional protruding rock or tree root. It was quite a walk, he had to admit, though admittedly couldn’t blame the Malfoy’s for requesting such a distanced Apparation point no matter how he may wish to. More distance meant more notice they had of an intrusion or potential attack. Sirius suspected they likely had Detection Charms spaced at periodic distances surrounding their property too. The house elves probably already knew he was on his way.

Striding up the wide, cleanly swept footpath to the front door, shaking his head at the pristinely trimmed hedges and sprouts of vivid Winterflame and snow-laden honeysuckle, he ascended the steps of the front veranda. The ring of his gloved knuckles resounded on the thick oaken doors; he could have rung the bell, probably should have if he’d been acting as etiquette dictated, but… well, Sirius had always spat in the face of etiquette.

It was no surprise that it was a house elf that answered the door. The little creature – a girl, Sirius hazarded, though couldn’t be certain – bowed low as soon as the door was wide enough to admit him. “Good morning, Master Sirius Black, sir. Podey is being expecting you any second now.”

“Is that right?” Sirius muttered, though couldn’t keep the satisfied smile from touching his lips. Expecting him? Had Harry had known – or perhaps hoped? – that Sirius would be over as soon as possible? Sirius liked to think that his godson was eager to catch up once more.

Podey nodded her head excessively, bat-ears flapping. “Yes, sir. Master Harry Potter is being asking all of us house elves that we could be letting you in from the cold as soon as you arrive, sir.” She bounced with far too much enthusiasm for the situation as she closed the door behind him.

 _All of us house elves_? Sirius pondered as he looked around the entrance hall. _Just how many do the Malfoy’s keep in their service? And closeted away in the country, too._ For though Sirius knew that, though most upper class pureblood families had an ever-present contingent of elves to wait on their beck and call at all times, they usually resided solely in the primary residence of those families. A country manor would usually only have one, perhaps two, to maintain the property. And Malfoy’s cottage? It was basically unheard of, so little had Sirius’ cousins used it. Unheard of and unplotted. It was one of the main reasons they’d chosen to retreat to it.

As he gazed around the room, however, Sirius had to admit that the house would likely need a whole platoon of cleaners to maintain such immaculate conditions. Even simplistic as the entrance hall was, it was still grand and a little intimidating to one who had been living between the gloomy, dusty and closeted walls of a house that was largely acknowledged as almost-unfit-for-habitation. Or so Molly Weasley said.

The room was long and relatively wide, high ceiling broken only by the disappearing stairs. A dark green embroidered rug stretched like a runner from the front door to the distant closed door on the opposite wall, the fabric thick and soft underfoot. A curving staircase stood to the right of the front door, polished ebony banisters a shade darker than the steps themselves reflected in the series of pristine mirrors along the opposite wall. The line of mirrors themselves were broken only by the infrequent portrait, the effect being that the room appeared even larger than its impressive dimensions at first suggested. Overhead, simple yet still grandiose chandelier illuminated the room. The reflections of the candles off the mirrors served to brighten the area further.

And there was not a speck of dust in sight. Naturally. This _was_ a Malfoy estate, after all. They likely did indeed have a platoon of house elves in their service. Dare a Malfoy be required to sniff for a speck of dust!

Podey, skirting him after shutting the door, snapped her heels together as she presented herself before Sirius once more. She tugged smartly at the lapels of her tea towel. “Mistress Narcissa is telling Podey that she would meet Master Sirius Black in the parlour if sir would be so obliging.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Did she now?”

“Yes, sir.” Podey nodded sharply, completely missing the sarcasm in Sirius’ tone. Or perhaps she heard it but chose to ignore it. House elves were fantastic at overlooking slights they didn’t deem necessary to hear. “Would you be following me, sir?”

Shaking his head, Sirius widened his stance comfortably and crossed his arms over his chest. “No, I don’t think I will. I’m only here to pick up Harry; I’ll be off just as soon as he gets down here.”

He was being rude, Sirius knew. And more than that, he was being immature. Sirius knew that, too. And yet he couldn’t quite help himself. Generous to the Malfoys he had never said he would be. Amiability was vastly different to merely tolerating. Sirius sincerely doubted he could assume the former. It was why he’d settled on the idea of ignoring Malfoy Junior in the first place. He didn’t want to push himself to the impossible and set unrealistic expectations. Sirius was still struggling with the urge not to punch the snotty shit in his pointy nose every time he saw him.

Podey evidently didn’t approve of his decision. “Sir, Mistress Narcissa was asking you –“

“If Narcissa wants to see me, she’s more than welcome to come in here and do just that,” Sirius cut in. “As I said, I’m not staying long. I hardly see it as necessary to make myself comfortable. You can go and tell her that if you’d like.”

The quivering in Podey’s ears could have been from nervousness or indignation, Sirius wasn’t sure. Possibly both; house elves were like that. But finally, with a little huff that sounded faintly exasperated, she spun on her heel and with a crack that Sirius fathomed sounded pointedly louder than it should have, she disappeared. The silence and emptiness of the room was actually a welcome relief.

Sirius was just considering alighting the stairs in search of Harry – he didn’t particularly fancy remaining in the cottage any longer than was absolutely necessary, despite how admittedly and surprisingly comfortable it was – when the door at the other end of the room opened. Narcissa Malfoy, in all of her regal and upstanding presence, stepped through with a sweep of dark robes.

Contrary to what Sirius may have expected, she did not seem disgruntled in the slightest to have had to come to meet him rather than he to her. Turning towards him after closing the door, her face was blank and composed. Perhaps a little curious but otherwise devoid of expression.

“Sirius. You are here earlier than expected.”

Sirius shrugged. _Earlier than perhaps_ you _expected._ “I had time this morning. Figured I may as well head on over.”

Narcissa afforded him a small smile. “Very kind of you. I apologise; Lucius or I would have been more than happy to escort them, but Harry said the Order would probably prefer to do so. He received a letter from Minerva McGonagall this morning regarding Lucius’ role as escort last night.”

Sirius strove to keep a hold of his surprise. He hadn’t heard of that. Harry hadn’t said anything about it in his letter. Did he just forget? Did he think it inconsequential, irrelevant given that he knew Sirius would see fit to come and pick him up himself, even before Sirius had known he’d be permitted to do so? Sirius liked to think that. It was better than the alternative; he didn’t want to think that Harry was hiding things from him, even when he knew it was a very possible possibility given that Harry had already done so. “It’s not a problem. As I said, I had time.”

Narcissa’s smile widened. Sirius was left with the distinct impression that she had been party to his thoughts. He’d always felt that way about his cousin; it was disconcerting to stand beneath her gaze. He fought the urge to shift uncomfortably. “Even so. I do believe Draco and Harry are upstairs otherwise engaged. A fierce battle of chess to hear tell of it.”

“Chess?” Sirius blinked, surprised once more for an entirely different reason. Harry wasn’t all too good at chess, had laughed off Sirius’ offers to play in the past by claiming that his experience with Ron had informed him that he ‘royally sucked’ at the game. He didn’t know what to make of the fact that he would willingly play with Draco. Perhaps it wasn’t willing?

Her face grave but for the hint of her lingering smile, Narcissa nodded. “They’ve become quite practiced at it over the past few days. I do believe it was drawing to a close half an hour ago, but they do tend to exaggerate the importance of the game. I wouldn’t put them past a rematch. Can I interest you in some tea?”

It was all protocol. His cousin was acting as she was supposed to, Sirius knew. He held no allusions that she felt any more positively for him than he did for her. And he wouldn’t play her game, either. He didn’t have to. “No, Narcissa, I don’t think so. I’m more than happy to remain here.” He held up a hand as Narcissa opened her mouth to reply. “Please, feel no obligation to do the same. I don’t need entertainment and there’s not really anything besides the portraits in here that I’d be able to filch. You don’t have to fear for my thieving fingers.”

Smirking at his own wit, Sirius tilted his head under Narcissa’s regard. She stared at him unblinkingly for a moment, and Sirius refused to feel disconcerted by the unwavering attention. “You make things difficult for yourself, don’t you, Sirius?”

Blinking, momentarily silenced, Sirius cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

“It would be far easier for you – and for Harry, and everyone else, I’m sure – if you simply…” Narcissa wafted a hand to the side of her head, “ceased your objections.”

This. This was very much _not_ protocol. Even calm and collected as Narcissa’s voice was, Sirius knew that, adhering to the dance of socialising as any upstanding pureblood did, she should not be saying such. It was far too intrusive, too personal, even coming from a family member. Perhaps especially coming from a family member, given how distant they were both in terms of blood ties and fondness.

Frowning, Sirius fought not to take a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”

Narcissa took a casual step further into the entrance hall as if in response to his urge to retreat. “You don’t like me, nor my husband and evidently, despite Harry’s fondness for him, you dislike my son.”

“Obviously,” Sirius blurted out before he could help himself. He refused to cringe guiltily for the blatant honesty of his tongue.

Narcissa actually smirked at his words, which was worse than a glare would have been. “Obviously. What I don’t fully comprehend is why?”

For the second time in their conversation, Sirius was rendered momentarily speechless. His jaw worked with the urge to voice his thoughts, but it took long seconds of struggle for him to be able to produce words. “I’m pretty sure that’s obvious too.”

Because it was. It was very, very obvious. There was so much to dislike of the Malfoys, so much that Sirius could find to object to, that he didn’t even know where to start. They were of the pompous, archaic pureblood family type, ever looking down their nose at anyone they deemed beneath them. They were wrought with prejudice, barely deigning to consider Muggles of the same species let alone speak to them directly. And the prejudices didn’t end there. There was a whole plethora of families, of cultures, that they, being the upstanding purebloods that they were, elevated themselves above. It was one of many things that Sirius found so disagreeable about purebloods in general.

And his objections didn’t stop there. Such characteristics very exclusive purely to the Malfoy’s themselves, unique and removed in their flaws from the pureblood strain. Not in the least that they had been embroiled with Voldemort, not solely in the first war but in the second as well. That until recently, until some reasoning that Dumbledore had accepted as plausible but still eluded Sirius, they had maintained that loyalty. Add that to their disagreeable characteristics – Narcissa’s aloof deviousness, Lucius’ cold, calculated cunning, and Draco’s… well, there was so much simply _wrong_ with Draco that Sirius didn’t even know where to start – then yes, Sirius thought himself very justified in criticising the Malfoys. Very justified indeed.

Lost in his thoughts, in his mental collation of inadequacies and deterring features, Sirius only realised when the silence had stretched on for some minutes that Narcissa was regarding him thoughtfully. Not with that hard chill that Lucius possessed, nor the disdain that Draco so frequently adopted, but simply considering. That gaze left Sirius more unnerved than that her husband or son could assume. “What?”

“You truly dislike us so fiercely, don’t you?”

It was a rhetorical question, but said with such certainty, almost understandingly, that Sirius was suddenly sure that Narcissa had listened in on his silent rendition of the Malfoy Unfavourable Traits. Biting back the urge to step away from her once more, Sirius tightened the fold of his arms across his chest. “Can you blame me?”

Sighing, Narcissa seemed to sincerely regret the aggression in his tone. _Seemed_ being the operative word, for Sirius knew that the woman, being of Black lineage as she was, was more than capable of making falsehoods appear genuine. “I suppose not.” She pursed her lips, her regard becoming thoughtful once mroe. “I could attempt to sway your impression, you know.”

“You could try,” Sirius agreed. And would have retracted his words if he could have for he instantly saw Narcissa assume the phrase as a challenge.

“Very well. It is true, we were aligned to the Dark Lord. Twice, and I cannot claim to regret doing so. Not even given our current circumstances.”

Offering a dissatisfied sniff that was closer to a snort, Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You’re not making a good start.”

Narcissa continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “For the safety of our family, I do not believe that we would have survived nearly as long had Lucius not acted as he had twenty years ago. My sister’s status as a primary supporter left it impossible for us to escape the Dark Lord’s notice. Andromeda is proof of the lengths even a single person had to go to in order to avoid his conscription.”

“You can’t blame Bellatrix for –“

“But even so, I believe that my husband does regret the necessity of his actions. As I do mine,” Narcissa overrode Sirius without even batting an eyelid. He felt his lip curl. “We are not cruel people, you know.”

“Now that I object to –“

“And we do not delight in the infliction of pain upon others. True, if it was a choice between myself and my family’s safety and that of a nameless Muggle, the order of priorities would not even be in the same playing field. But that does not mean that any of us believe it is the right decision.”

“You could have fooled everyone with that,” Sirius muttered. He’d taken to glaring at his cousin, as much for her words as the fact that she so readily interrupted him. What was it about preventing him from speaking that _everyone_ was taking to at the moment? First Remus two days ago, then Hermione the previous night, and now Narcissa. Did he had an ‘Ignore Me’ sticker stuck to his forehead?

Narcissa only bowed her head at acknowledgement. “That was the intention. To fool the Dark Lord.”

“The very fact that you call still call him ‘the Dark Lord’ isn’t exactly reassuring,” Sirius pointed out.

Shrugging, Narcissa disregarded his words with another wave of her hand. “Old habits die hard, I’m afraid. Even those so detested. Perhaps those especially so.” Her gaze hardened. “But rest assured, Sirius, that die they will. Along with our supposed allegiances.”

“How could anyone possibly believe you at your word?” Sirius sneered. It really was unrealistic, even with the weight of Dumbledore’s words behind him.

Narcissa seemed deterred not the slightest by his scepticism. “Quite simply, because we have an even greater loyalty. All of us, my husband, my son, myself, have made our decision. In fact, had Lucius and I not chosen as such, I do believe that it unlikely we would have survived at all.”

“A greater loyalty?” Sirius raised his eyebrow. “What, to the Order?”

“Not precisely.” Narcissa paused. “I’d have thought it was obvious the cause for our shift in allegiances given my son’s actions and attentions. Did you know he claimed that, though it would pain him, he would be doing so even without the accompaniment of Lucius and myself? That he has felt the need to shift his priorities?”

“What?” Sirius blinked, uncomprehending. He felt as though the answer was staring him in the face, something entirely obvious, but he couldn’t quite see it. He reconciled his budding curiosity with the thought that Narcissa was probably exaggerating to put her son in a better light anyway. “You defied Voldemort because of your son’s ‘shift in priorities’?”

Narcissa, admirably, barely flinched at the use of Voldemort’s name. “Is it so hard to believe? I would do anything for my family; it is for the sake of my son and my husband that I do aught. It was that which drove us into the Dark Lord’s forces to begin with.”

“So wonderful to hear that you care for your family enough to partake in the torture and killings of countless innocents,” Sirius said sarcastically.

Face hardening, Narcissa lifted her chin. Sirius knew immediately that he’d struck a sore spot. “Accuse all you like, Sirius, it does you little good. I have given you my reasons and regretful though our involvement in the war has been, I will not repent. It was necessary. We have moved on. And, as I said, you only make life harder for yourself by clinging to your hatred for us.”

Sirius scowled. “You’ve moved on? Of course you have. It wasn’t your lives that were so damaged by your actions.”

“If you truly believe that in its entirety then you are a greater fool than I give you credit for being.”

Sirius’ scowl deepened. He could feel a growl building within him. “I’m the fool? I’m merely holding fast to reality, making sure your actions aren’t forgotten, because everybody else in the world seems to ready to overlook them!”

“And by everybody you mean Harry?” Narcissa asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Who else? You might have pulled the wool over his eyes somehow, but you won’t do the same to you. You and your little bastard son –“

“Do _not_ speak of my son as such, Sirius Black, or I swear by Salazar you will regret it.”

There was little that could unhinge Sirius. Not enough for him to physically back down, anyway, to act upon his unease. But the sharpness of Narcissa’s voice, oddly reminiscent of his mother’s that had once so cowed him, rendering him mute. He felt like a pup cringing before the snarling attentions of a matriarchal bitch. In this instance, silently fuming at Narcissa and unsettled as he was, he felt the analogy entirely appropriate. He couldn’t even meet her dagger-sharp gaze.

When Narcissa spoke next it was with icy coolness, so quiet as to be almost a whisper. Only the absolute silence of the entrance hall enabled him to hear at all. “You will loose much if you cling to such hatreds, Sirius. You say you retain your… aversion for my family for Harry’s sake?” She snorted, the sound so unexpected coming from her that Sirius glanced up in surprise. “Foolish is not a strong enough word to cover it. Perhaps you should learn from your godson’s example. He is not so blinded by the past to overlook repentance when he sees it.”

“Repentance? You call your attitude -?”

“I hope for Harry’s sake at least that you will try harder.” Once more, Narcissa didn’t wait for him to finish. “The rest of the Order has seen fit to _try_ to at least tolerate our presence in your ranks, if not to expressly favour us. Even the Weasleys have seen fit to try. And for one specific reason. I would have thought you of all people would see fit to act upon that cause, to consider it just, given to who it is most strongly effecting.”

“Cause? Reason?” Again, that inkling was niggling Sirius in the back of his mind, that the answer was staring him directly in the face. He felt like he should have known what Narcissa spoke of but couldn’t quite see it. He disregarded it a moment later however. Anger was sparked and Sirius didn’t feel inclined to attempt to see the situation from his cousin’s perspective. “What possible reason could that be?”

Whether Narcissa would have answered him or not Sirius didn’t know. She didn’t get the chance to for an instant later there was the sound of muffled laughter from the floor above, followed by the soft thump of footsteps on the landing and then the stairs. Sirius drew his gaze to the stairwell just in time to see Harry appear.

“Sirius!” He exclaimed. As though he was actually surprised to see him. “You’re here earlier than we expected.”

“Yeah, well. Anything to get out of the house, right?” Was Sirius – and apparently Podey – the only ones who had expected him to arrive with any sort of promptness?

For all his disgruntlement, however, Sirius couldn’t maintain even a semblance of discontent when Harry grinned broadly and bounded down the stairs. He gave his godson an answering grin, wrapping him in a one-armed hug when he pulled up at his side. Harry let him, offering an affectionate squeeze of his own in return. “Honestly, I expected you to still be sleeping. No New Year’s revelry to keep you up all night?”

“I bounce back quickly,” Sirius brushed off. As though he’d had anything in particular to bounce back from. A glass or two of firewhiskey topped with a swirl of mead over the course of a few hours was hardly straining.

Draco swept down the stairs after Harry a moment later, scanning the room dismissively as though he owned the place. Which, Sirius begrudgingly ceded, he sort of did. Still, that recognition did nothing to lend the blonde boy his favour. Nor did the slight nod of acknowledgement the brat offered him. It was all he could do not to immediately adopt a scowl, let alone greet him back.

 _Ignore him, just ignore him. You’re doing this for Harry. For Harry. Just ignore him…_ He hadn’t realised how hard it would be. The urge to strike the faintly smug expression that Draco’s face seemed to naturally fall into was almost impossible to disregard. Thankfully, Draco didn’t seem to need a response, instead turning his attention to Narcissa.

“Mother, could you have one of the house elves bring our luggage over at your earliest convenience?”

Narcissa offered her son a smile. “Of course. I’ll send Moppy after lunch.”

Harry sighed long-sufferingly, shoulder sagging slightly beneath Sirius’ arm. He rolled his eyes at him as if to say “see the foolishness that I have to deal with?” before turning to Draco. “Honestly, I don’t see why it’s so much trouble for us to bring them ourselves. If it worries you so much, Draco, I don’t mind carrying yours.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry.” Draco held up a forbidding hand, a frown crinkling his forehead as though the thought mentally strained him. The indulgent git. “I’ll not have either of us lugging baggage through the snow like a pair of pack horses.”

“I’m surprised you even know what a pack horse is,” Harry said with a grin.

“I resent your assumption.”

“No, really, it’s a very Muggle concept. I’d assume you’d just use magic, wouldn’t you? I never really saw you as the kind to acknowledge the use of beast of burden. Surely they’d dirty your hands.”

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco drawled, hooded eyes turning towards Harry in a silencing stare. Sirius had to fight the urge to punch the little shit once more – who did he think he was, telling Harry to shut up? – and managed just barely. He was glad he had, too, for he realised belatedly that this sort of exchange apparently held little heat and was said more in jest than anything else. Harry was still grinning, shaking his head slightly as though exasperated, while even Narcissa seemed on the verge of cracking a smile.

Weird. Very weird. He liked it even less in that Narcissa was apparently in the amusement-loop while he was not.

“You’re more than welcome to stay longer should you wish,” Narcissa said a moment later, distracting him from the now familiar feeling of rising discontent. “There’s really no rush.”

“We do indeed need to have another play off, Harry,” Draco added. Whatever that meant. Sirius assumed he referred to a chess match but couldn’t be sure.

When Harry slipped out from under the casual sling of his arm, Sirius felt his stomach clench. _Oh dammit. Please no, please no, please don’t say yes…_ He would stay if Harry wanted to – it wasn’t like he was going to leave him to the Malfoy’s clutches – but if Sirius had his way they would have left already. Fine as the estate may be, he disliked it on principle.

“Thanks anyway, Mrs Malfoy, but it’d probably be better if we got back to Grimmauld Place,” Harry said good-naturedly. It was unnerving to see him talking so easily to Sirius’ cousin. “I expect someone would probably send out a search party if we delayed too long.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius asked. He attempted to keep his tone inquisitive rather than accusatory, and wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded.

Harry didn’t seem to mind either way, however. He glanced towards Sirius with a shrug. “Nothing much.” And he left it at that.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Narcissa said, smiling towards Harry as she drifted towards Draco to press a feather-light kiss on his cheek. Draco didn’t bat an eyelid at the gesture. “You’re always welcome to come back at any time you wish, whether it be before term resumes or during. Would you by chance like to visit for Easter, Harry?”

“Of course he would,” Draco replied before Harry even got the chance to open his mouth. He barely spared Harry a glance of confirmation. The edges of Sirius’ vision flickered red. “I’m coming for a day or two so he is too.” Harry’s only response was to snort in something of a chuckle. Otherwise he made no comment on Draco’s assumption.

Sirius felt his frustration redouble. What a presumptuous, domineering little arsehole! And Harry was just letting him get away with it? What was with that?

Thankfully, however, he wasn’t given time for that frustration to manifest further. Harry and Draco made their farewells to Narcissa – Harry even let the witch place a delicate peck on his own cheek, much to Sirius’ barely concealed horror – before heading out the door, tugging on gloves and scarfs as they went. As Sirius fell into step beside his godson, trudging silently when not answering questions of the previous night, he fought to get a grasp of his seething anger.

That had not gone quite as well as he’d planned. And now he would be living with the Malfoy spawn in his house for the next few days.

 _Breathe, Sirius, breathe_ , he coached himself. And he tried not to dwell upon Narcissa’s words, no matter how they nagged at him. He was missing something, something profound. He just wasn’t entirely sure what it was.


	9. Day 9 – 17:17

Sirius had done a fantastic job of ignoring the Malfoy brat for the past day, even if he did say so himself. It had been difficult, seeing as he wanted to spend time with Harry and the blonde ferret – a name he’d adopted from Ron after overhearing a rather delightful conversation that morning in reference – was nearly always at his side, but manage he did. And other than the too-frequent presence of said ferret in his line of sight, he’d quite enjoyed himself.

            It helped that Harry appeared to be in a genuinely good mood. Sirius was pleasantly surprised by the fact; especially when compared to how he’d been last year, what with the issue of Voldemort literally pressing on his mind, he was positively jovial. And in spite of the fact that Sirius was beginning to fully appreciate that, for some unfathomable reason, Draco had something to do with his agreeable humour, he was happy for him in turn.

            It was merely a shame to have the conversation he’d shared with Narcissa – and the ever-present reminder or his lingering discontent in the figure of the blonde, snotty little brat – hanging over his head. Sirius tried to keep in mind all that he had come to understand over the past few days, all that he had realised through both reflection and the none-too-gentle prodding of the combined efforts of Remus and Hermione. And, true to his private vow, Sirius considered that he was doing a marvellous job of ignoring his distant relative. It actually made for a far more enjoyable mealtime when he deliberately blotted the smug face of Draco Malfoy from his vision. He found he could actually smile in the boy’s presence now, even laugh, regardless of the fact that it had nothing to do with the boy himself.

            He maintained his studious disregard. And it did work. At least until Draco sought to deliberately step from the blindspot that Sirius had placed him into.

            Trotting up the steps with a cup of tea in hand on Thursday evening, Sirius wore a smile. It was one of many he’d been able to assume over the past twenty-four hours, and he wore if for no other reason than that he was simply in a good mood.

Things were looking remarkably positive, even if just in regard to his relationship with Harry. They’d shared a wonderful conversation over lunch that had descended into an easy chat that extended a full two hours into the afternoon. There was nothing particularly consequential about their discussion; what was happening at school that year, what was to be expected next term; _“your Apparating lessons? Oh, you’ll be fine, you’ll get the hang of it eventually. There was this one time when James and I…”_ Nothing remotely triggering and even better nothing to do with Harry’s love life. It still left Sirius uneasy, even knowing as he did that they would need to discuss the dragon in the room eventually. He was putting off the conversation, he knew, but how could he not? Everything was going so well as it was, what with Sirius’ attempt to be anything but aggressively objectionable towards Draco.

            Unfortunately for Sirius, that wellness was abruptly shattered as he stepped onto the landing on the second floor. He froze in step as he nearly walked into Draco, and had to tighten his grip on his mug to withhold the urge to toss the scalding liquid into the boy’s nonchalant face.

            Sirius took half a step back – just so that he wouldn’t be contaminated by their proximity – and paused as he waited for Draco to move aside and allow him to pass. Draco didn’t move. Not immediately and, as Sirius observed his slowly fold his arms across his chest, he didn’t look likely to any time soon.

            It was happening. The confrontation.

            Sirius had suspected it was on the horizon. Had wanted it to happen, really, but hadn’t been able to push himself to interact with even a semblance of civility to approach his heinous brat of a cousin to initiate it himself. Had it been left up to Sirius, such a ‘confrontation’ would most likely have begun with a fist to the face and a knee to the groin. Sirius made no attempt to conceal the fact that he fought dirty; grinding the boy to a pulp in less than five seconds? No, he wouldn’t feel guilty about doing so in the slightest.

            Even less so because, Sirius realised in the seconds that they silently stared at one another, the ‘boy’ was hardly a boy at all. He was only about half a head shorter than Sirius’ more impressive height, and though he was still evidently easing into his mature body, it wasn’t with the gangly clumsiness that someone like Ron was undergoing. Draco Malfoy maintained his decorum even when undergoing the frightening and often unhinging experience of growth and puberty. And he seemed to drift through it easily. Almost too easily. Draco appeared entirely comfortable in his skin in a way that Sirius recognised as being reminiscent of his own ease in adolescence, something that certainly Remus and even James hadn’t quite been able to assume. It did nothing to endear his cousin to him that they shared such a similarity. Quite the opposite, in fact.

            Draco regarded Sirius just as intently as Sirius did him. His flat grey eyes, so reminiscent of his father’s, stared at him unblinkingly. It wasn’t disconcerting, Sirius told himself. Draco could reach for the intimidation that his father breathed – yet too, Sirius was _not_ intimidated by – but he would fall short. Perhaps always, but certainly at least until he was an actual adult. For he wasn’t, not yet, regardless of the fact that he very obviously considered himself as much. Sirius gave a mental snort. Really, the boy – the _youth_ – was once again wearing robes when he wasn’t even in school. What kind of a teenager these days actually wore robes when out of a formal setting? It was positively archaic. Even Sirius rarely wore such when not on official business of some kind.

            “We need to talk.” Draco finally spoke, interrupting Sirius’ silent degradation of his cousin. “It’s been a long time coming.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sirius replied. Purely to be objectionable, of course. He knew exactly to what Draco referred, had already concluded that it was going to happen eventually whether Sirius wanted it to or not. But he wouldn’t agree with Draco. Never intentionally and never out loud.

            From the expression on Draco’s face, barely changing yet taking on just a hint of infuriating condescension in the faint lift of his eyebrow, he knew what Sirius was doing. Knew, and disregarded his attempts at acting the objectionable. “I’d much rather you simply accept that it’s going to happen rather than tossing your head and digging your heels in stubbornly. I can assure you, I’ve no more inclination to speak to you than you do to me.”

            “Oh, you’ve no idea, kid,” Sirius grumbled. His grasp on the handle of his mug was achingly tight, but it was better that then risking burning the buggery out of Malfoy. Harry might be a bit upset at that, especially given that should such a possibility occur Sirius doubted he would have the coolness of mind – or the inclination – to heal the burns before they descended to a permanent scarring stage. Such a shame it would be, to melt the smug expression permanently from Draco’s face. Such a shame.

            “Regardless,” Draco continued as though Sirius hadn’t spoken. “It needs to be done. Not for your sake, or for mine, but for Harry’s. It’s necessary.”

            “And you know what’s necessary for Harry so well, do you?” Sirius had to speak through gritted teeth.

            Draco shrugged. “It doesn’t take a deductive genius to determine the necessity, especially when Harry has, in an admittedly roundabout way, expressed his concerns for the matter.”

            “He has?” Sirius blurted out before he could stop himself. He could have cursed his tongue in that moment, and did profusely in the privacy of his head. It was bad enough that Harry had deemed it acceptable to inform Draco and yet not Sirius of his ‘concerns for the matter’, but that Sirius had admitted that he wasn’t party to those concerns? Unacceptable.

            Surprisingly, Draco didn’t smirk assumingly and leap upon the slip like a cat on a mouse. He inclined his head, a juvenile attempt at mature sobriety, before meeting Sirius’ gaze. “In short, I’ve reached a conclusion: we need to get along.”

            Sirius snorted. “That’s not going to happen.”

            “Not with that attitude it isn’t.”

            “Oh, very good, very smooth. Condescension is really your forte, isn’t it, Malfoy?” Sirius’ lip curled.

            The beginnings of his smug little smile curled the corners of Draco’s lips. “I have had a lot of practice.”

            “I’m sure you have. Too many victims of your superiority at school, are there?”

            “Hardly victims,” Draco said with a wave of his hand that mirrored his mother’s gesture exactly. “They recognise their inferior status. It’s suitable for all of us involved.”

            Shaking his head, fighting to still the familiar rising twitch in his eye, Sirius took a step towards Draco. Frustratingly, the boy didn’t retreat as he should have, leaving them discomfortingly close. “See this? This is exactly your problem. This is why people have a _problem_ with you, Malfoy _.” Or at least one of the many reasons,_ he corrected silently.

            “And by people you mean you?” Draco asked, cocking his head slightly in his bird impression. Bloody ferret.

            “No,” Sirius ground out. “I mean _everyone_.”

            “Pray tell, who is this everyone of which you speak? To my knowledge, the other guests of Grimmauld Place are quite accepting of my general attitude.”

            “Only because you’ve got them all caught beneath your charm.”

            “Do you consider me charming, cousin?” Draco’s smirk widened. “How gratifying.”

            Sirius couldn’t even reply to that. It took every ounce of his self-control to withhold a growl and a bearing of his teeth. He wasn’t fully successful with the latter, but figured Draco might be able to mistake it for a sarcastic smile. Maybe.

            “This is getting us nowhere,” Draco said after a moment. Sighing, he took a step backwards. Sirius blinked. Draco had… he’d actually taken a step backwards. As if he’d – “I’ve chosen to come and talk to you because I realise it’s necessity. It need only be brief; I haven’t much to say, and even less inclination to say it. But the sooner this is over with the sooner you can go back to ignoring me as you have admittedly done _such_ a good job of doing so far.”

            “Your recognition of my skills warms the cockles of my heart,” Sirius growled, smile-snarling because that was indeed the best he could do. And he would do his best, at least for as long as the _very_ brief confrontation would last for. He already had one up on the Malfoy brat in that Draco had taken a step backwards. “Fine. If that’s what you want, speak away. Get it over with, then.”

            Draco inclined his head. “In short, do what you’re doing. Ignore me, if you will. Be the godfather that Harry so wants you to be. You seem at least capable of that to some degree.”

            Sirius couldn’t contain his growl this time. “I know that –“

            “We don’t have to be friends. We don’t even have to be acquaintances, really. I admit that I want absolutely no association with you other than that which must be endured for Harry’s sake.”

            “Damn right! You’re not the only one who –“

            “I would entirely ignore you as well if I could,” Draco overrode him. Sirius nearly choked in his rising fury. What was it with _everyone_ in the world speaking over the top of him lately? “It’s no secret that I can’t stand you. I’m sure that, even wishing otherwise, Harry realises it too. But I won’t act upon that. And if it means that I have to at least attempt to play nice with you for his sake, then I will. Whether you choose to do the same or not.”

            Sirius’ jaw worked in an attempt to reply. He opened and closed his mouth, pathetic little strangled sounds the only vocalisation he could produce. Draco regarded him flatly; his smirk had vanished and even the smugness was gone from his expression. And, somehow, through his boiling indignation and the simmering heat of his anger, Sirius registered that fact. Registered it and understood its meaning.

            Draco was willing to put aside old hatred for his boyfriend. For Harry. And he wasn’t necessarily asking Sirius to do the same, but simply laying out the reality of the situation, to avoid any possibly confusion. It was almost… no, it was… it was almost _decent_ of him. Almost as though he really…

            Almost as though he really cared. Cared enough to ‘play nice’ with Sirius. For Harry’s sake.

            That was… unprecedented. Unbelievable. Inconceivable. Not that someone would go to such lengths for Harry – Sirius would be the first to proclaim that his godson was a great kid and well worth it – but that _Draco Malfoy_ would do so. It was –

            “Have we reached an understanding?”

            Draco, evidently feeling that Sirius’ extended silence had lasted long enough, spoke once more. His flat expression remained for an instant longer, dark eyes staring unblinkingly into Sirius’ in a wholly disconcerting manner, before it dissolved. And that hated smirk resumed its place upon his lips.

            Scowling, Sirius dropped his eyes briefly. They had barely engaged in a confrontation. Draco had entirely dominated the conversation and was concluding it just as purposefully. And Sirius, for all that he objected to the manner of said confrontation, couldn’t dispute the speed at which it ended. His hand was nearly trembling for the strain to took him to refrain from blinding Malfoy with a toss of his cooling tea.

            “You want to attempt neutrality,” Sirius said lowly, because he had to say _something_. He couldn’t simply let Draco direct the entirety of the proceedings. “For Harry.”

            Draco didn’t reply, didn’t even nod his agreement. Sirius couldn’t blame him, given that he’d deliberately made his words devoid of query.

            “And this entails… what? No arguments when you’re being a little arsehole? No fists through your nose when I deem you’re acting too great of an insufferable brat?”

            “I believe that in both of those instances your actions would be based entirely upon subjective opinion,” Draco said pompously.

            Sirius’ scowl intensified. “Do you always feel the need to act like a stuck up little git?”

            “Of course not. Only on Thursdays,” Draco replied, completely blank-faced. Sirius blinked, startled from his scowl by surprise. Did Draco just… did he just make a joke? It was hard to tell for sure but… Draco Malfoy? Just made a sort-of joke?

            Shaking himself from his brief stupor, Sirius firmed his jaw. “You act like an arse, kid, and I won’t let you get away with it. The off-hand comment or little snide remarks I can allow, but you even think about taking it too far, even consider acting to hurt anyone, and you’ll get a fist to the face so hard that you can taste your pudding from last Christmas.”

            “I’m not sure that entirely makes sense,” Draco said with a raised eyebrow. “Not to mention that what you deem ‘taking it too far’ is similarly subjective. As for hurting anyone, it would depend upon whom I am –“

            “Think for a moment about hurting Harry, even incidentally, and I’ll make you rue the day you were ever born.” Sirius took silent satisfaction in being the one to override Draco this time. It was only a slight dampener that Draco didn’t seem fazed by it in the slightest.

            Instead, he regarded Sirius silently for a moment before slowly inclining his head. “On that, we actually agree upon.” And without another word, Draco turned on his heel and headed back down the hallway. Back towards Harry’s room, Sirius realised. The door clicked shut quietly behind his passage.

            Sirius was left staring alone in the hallway. Despite having a say, he’d lost the last word. And yet though some part of his mind objected to his defeat of sorts, a greater part fell into silent contemplation. Considering. Thinking and…

            It was true. Draco had spoken with a modicum of decency. And should he actually act according to his claims… There was no guarantee that he would, and personally Sirius doubted that a Malfoy even could act so selflessly, but just the possibility was strange. Astounding, even. Draco Malfoy, playing nice? Resisting the urge to descend into discord with Sirius should the opportunity arise?

            And doing it for Harry?

            No, strange wasn’t a large enough word to describe the situation.

            Turning slowly to continue in his climb of the stairs, Sirius frowned. His good humour hadn’t been erased entirely, but was largely replaced by wary consideration. He still hated the Malfoy boy, still felt no more generosity towards him than he would to a disagreeable and unshakeable wart. Draco was still a snide, cruel, selfish little shit; there was no denying that. And Harry would still definitely be better off without him.

            But that consideration remained. That wary thoughtfulness that Sirius couldn’t quite describe, couldn’t quite understand the nature of… it was the same consideration, he realised, which had arisen at numerous times since Christmas, most recently at the Malfoys country cottage. He simply hadn’t realised what it had been at the time.

            Trudging slowly, head bowed, towards his room on the fourth floor, Sirius frowned at his feet. This was a new development, one he hadn’t anticipated and hence hadn’t prepared for. But then, something within him told Sirius that he didn’t particularly need to. That he didn’t have to prepare because maybe, _maybe_ he wasn’t directly involved. Maybe it wasn’t his place to interfere, even if it was from a protective point of view.

            Sirius sat long and silently at the desk in his room, face affixed in a frown as he stared blindly at the pockmarked wood. His tea had long since become cold enough to warrant a Warming Charm, but Sirius didn’t bother. He forget he even held the mug at all.


	10. Day 10- 22:04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter contains depictions of a sexual nature. If you don't like it, don't read.

Jaw cracking in an aching yawn, Sirius paused in step to rub the balls of his hands across his eyes. He was, for the first time in a long time, actually wearied. It was more than likely that he’d actually manage to fall to sleep before midnight that night.

            It had been a good day, he acknowledged. Good in a satisfying way. The morning had begun with an Order-monitored quidditch match between Sirius, Harry, Draco and the Weasleys – Hermione wisely stepping out with admissions of her flying ineptitude – and in spite of being outnumbered by Weasleys with just the three of them, Sirius, Harry and Draco had won. It was more than satisfying, not only the winning and the competition, but simply the act of flying. That, and sharing time with his godson. Harry flew like James, perhaps even better than his father, and seemed to revel in the act itself as much as in the quidditch. His permanently affixed grin had been contagious, and Sirius found that even with Draco’s disagreeable presence he thoroughly enjoyed himself.

            Draco had made good his words of the previous evening. While he wasn’t any more approachable than he had been – ever – for some reason he seemed more… agreeable. Or more correctly, Sirius found there was less to object to of him than he had previously considered. He couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. It wasn’t as though his snarky remarks had become any less taunting. It wasn’t as though he teased the Weasleys to just short of bullying any less. It wasn’t that he’d even attempted to pull the stick out of his arse that gave him such a rigid posture and sense of entitlement.

            If Sirius was to put his finger on it… perhaps it was that his amusement was just a little more noticeable than it had been before, his smiles just a little wider. Or perhaps it was that he met Sirius’ gaze without immediately smirking across the distance between them. Or that when he talked idly to Harry as they drifted from the makeshift quidditch pitch back towards Girmmauld Place, when he flicked Harry’s fringe from his face and caught Sirius staring at him on the verge of frowning, he didn’t scowl challengingly.

            Or maybe that was just Sirius’ perspective. Was it? Did Draco really act any differently, or did Sirius simply assume that he was acting so? He didn’t think that he was so generous as to think Draco better than he was. He didn’t _want_ to think the boy was better. Because he wasn’t. He was a little shit. He was just… for some reason he was _acting_ different. Better. Sort of.

            In addition to his largely enjoyable morning, on top of the fact that Draco Malfoy had apparently taken a turn for the mildly decent, Sirius had been distracted. It was a good distraction, even if the actual nature of said distraction was not, in itself, good. Because Sirius had made headway with his private Death Eater mission. Or private no more, it would seem. Perhaps it never had been. For Moody had shouldered through the door at lunchtime, slapping down a file of parchments and scarfing down a sandwich from the half-eaten spread on the dining room table, and muttered something unintelligible to Sirius before departing.

            Sirius had picked up the files under the curious gaze of his fellow quidditch players and had immediately committed the rest of the afternoon to reading and Floo-calling every possible Order member who had, according to the reports in the file, had an inkling of relevance to, or knowledge regarding, Bellatrix Lestrange. Sirius would find the bitch and bring her down, that he vowed. And he was making a good job of filing down the possible hideouts for his estranged cousin.

            It was because of his furious study, his candlelit reading of handwritten notes and detailed reports, that Sirius had missed dinner that evening. It was also the reason that he found himself heading up to bed after eleven o’clock that night, the familiar ticking of his kitchen clock ringing in his mind and his eyes aching from straining to read in the darkness. He felt a little guilty for his abrupt detachment from reality, for ignoring his guests entirely. Although, he rationalised, they probably hardly noticed. Were probably warily grateful if they did. He knew he’d been… disagreeable the past days. Knew this, even if he didn’t exactly feel remorseful for his behaviour. And though he knew too that he’d been decidedly more agreeable in the past day or two, it was hardly unwarranted that his guests would be wary of another sudden mood swing. He realised with as little sheepishness that that was what it had been.

            He did feel a little guilty, however, that he had been so detached from his surroundings with his fixation on his knowledge seeking. Especially seeing as he’d promised to have another chat to Harry that evening about having a makeshift defence practice session before his godson went back to school. With the rapidly approaching end of the holidays, there wasn’t all that much time left, hardly an opportunity anymore. It was for such guilt, and his determination to reschedule the conversation if not to immediately set a time for the lesson, that Sirius felt urged towards Harry’s room on the second floor.

            It was the murmur of voices through the half-opened door that stopped him in step, however. They trickled quietly into the hallway, barely audible and riding upon the illuminating radiance of flickering candles within.

            “…don’t want to force you into anything, Draco. Seriously, I’m sorry. I feel really bad about that.”

            Sirius frowned, slipping silently to wall in compulsive positioning for prime eavesdropping. There was genuine regret in Harry’s tone, and Sirius knew immediately that he would _have_ to know why.

            Draco snorted in reply, which instantly raised Sirius’ hackles indignantly. How dare he make light of Harry’s apology! It was short-lived however, for Draco’s words drove that indignation firmly from his mind.

            “Why are you apologising? You have no reason to do so; it’s hardly your fault. Besides, I thought I already told you that I’d rather spend time with you than with my parents this Christmas. Even if it is in such a miserable establishment as Grimmauld Place.”

            There was such genuine affection in Draco’s tone that Sirius was distracted even from the derogatory reference to his house. It was, after all, entirely accurate. He had to forcibly pull himself from his astonishment, his disbelief even, as Harry continued. And he found himself frowning at the hint of melancholy in his tone.

            “That wasn’t exactly what I was referring to.”

            “Then pray tell, do clarify.”

            Harry sighed with exasperation, and Sirius fathomed that through the wall he could almost make out the rolling of his godson’s eyes. “You know what I’m talking about.”

            “Tell me anyway.”

            There was a brief pause, the sound of a squeaking of bedsprings and a grunt as bodies shifted position. Sirius held himself still, waiting silently. There was a part of him that knew he shouldn’t be listening in to Harry and Draco’s conversation, that simply because the door was left open a little, and most likely by accident, didn’t mean that he had a right to overhear. But Sirius had never been one much to play by the rules, not even when it was solely he himself who set them in the first place. It was something in him, some key element lacking perhaps, which had always infuriated his professors when he was in school.

            He almost stopped breathing when Harry continued, the better to hear his words. “Look, I know you’ve been getting along better with Ron and Hermione these days.”

            “And the Weasleys as a whole,” Draco added, self-satisfaction rich in his tone. Sirius nearly butted his head against the wall in exasperation.

            “Yes, well done, Draco. Very mature of you.” For all his degrading words, Harry’s voice quivered with amusement. “What I meant was that I’m grateful for that.”

            “You don’t need to be grateful for my actions,” Draco said slowly. There was another squeak of springs and Sirius imagined that he was shifting to pin Harry with his famous stare. He’d certainly afforded as much to Harry at every other opportunity that day. It was almost as though he couldn’t tear his gaze away. “Just like you don’t need to concern yourself should discord arise between us. Such disagreements are solely between the Weasleys and myself – or Hermione, should it matter. You don’t even come into the equation.”

            “How can you even say that? You wouldn’t even be talking to them if we weren’t dating.” A pause, another squeak of the bed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You can’t exactly refute that.”

            “Irrelevant,” Draco brushed aside.

            “It’s not,” Harry countered. “Just like it effects you how I feel about and interact with your mum and dad.”

            There was a murmur of muffled words from Draco that Sirius strained to make out. He caught a muttered, “even _call_ them ‘mum and dad’,” followed by a burst of laughter than sounded distinctly Harry. Even without seeing him, even when elicited by Draco, Sirius found his own lips curling slightly at the sound. It was just… infectious.

            The laughter was very obviously smothered a moment later after the faint sounds of a scuffle ensued. Draco’s voice was faintly breathless when he spoke next. “ _That_ is because my mother and father are more reasonable, and far less emotionally involved, in the consideration of their relationships. They are changeable depending upon rational circumstance. You know that. I’ve told you that.” Harry gave a hum of agreement. “Besides, what I meant is that it shouldn’t concern you what the status of my relationship with Hermione, or Ron, or Ginny or anyone else is. It doesn’t matter.”

            There was another pause, and the absence of scuffle, of laughter, of any sound entirely, suggested a gradual dwindling of the light-hearted mood. Harry’s next words confirmed dampening effect. “You know it wasn’t really them that I was referring to.”

            “I gathered that,” Draco said quietly. “You’ve worried about him enough that it was fairly obvious you’ve been thinking about it for at least the last hour.”

            “And then some,” Harry sighed. “I know it’s stupid. It’s not like anyone could change his mind about anything. He’s stubborn like that.”

            “Reminds me of someone…”

            “If you’re referring to me –“

            “Of course.”

            “We’re not even related. It’s not like I could have gotten my stubbornness from him.”

            “Maybe not related, but you still care for him greatly,” Draco said quietly. And in that instant, after simple static listening, Sirius realised that the boys were talking about him. He felt a clench in his gut and his throat tighten. There was very real concern, worry even, in Harry’s saddened tone. And it was because of Sirius? Because he was worried that Sirius and Draco, what, didn’t get along? That actually worried him?

            A memory of Hermione’s words, of Harry’s fears as to Sirius’ response to a confession of his sexuality, rose to the forefront of his mind. Harry was truly overthinking every aspect of this relationship, wasn’t he? Worried desperately about how his friends and those he cared for felt about it. Worried how _Sirius_ felt about it, about Harry, about Draco, about… about everything. Sirius had never considered others in his own pursuits, no one other than himself and the person subject to his attentions. It had just never occurred to him. Perhaps, as Draco had seen fit to point out, he’d merely considered that anything he shared with another person was solely between himself and them. Everyone else could just bugger off.

            Evidently, Harry didn’t think so. He worried for how his friends felt, worried for their contentedness even at the expense of his own. That much was apparent from the degree that he evidently gnawed at the issue. As Sirius hunkered in the hallway, hidden by the wall and the darkness of night unlit by any stray candle, he felt guilt well up within him.

            He’d been… Sirius had been terribly selfish. That reality hit him with the force of a _Stupefy_. How had he not realised it before?

            Harry was speaking again, cutting into Sirius’ thoughts sharply enough to snap him to attention. And what he heard cut him to the core. “I do. I really care about him. He’s basically the only family I have left. And you might say it doesn’t matter, that his opinion shouldn’t matter, but to me it does. I can understand why you hate him –“

            “Hate is a strong word,” Draco interrupted quietly. Much to Sirius’ surprise.

            “Strong, but pretty relevant wouldn’t you say?” Harry paused, as though awaiting a reply. Whether Draco gave him one or not Sirius didn’t know, but he continued a moment later anyway. “I just don’t want the fact that you two can’t get along to be a problem, is all.”

            The silence was too loud. Sirius could hear his own breath, hoarse and worryingly loud, as he strained his ears for the faintest sound. His eyes stared blankly into the darkness, but he didn’t see the hallway. Instead, he fathomed that he could see the frown on Harry’s face, the one that he’d noticed several times over the past few days directed towards him but hadn’t really appreciated before. Hadn’t really considered as being anything but a simple, irrelevant frown. It meant so much more than that now.

It was Draco who broke the silence, and surprisingly it was to say almost exactly what Sirius wished he could. “It’s not a problem, Harry. It won’t ever be. I talked to him yesterday, you know. I told him where I stood, where he should stand. And I like to think he took my words to heart as being reasonable, even if he does dislike me. Strongly. You’ve seen him today; he seems less antagonistic. Towards me, anyway. No?”

Harry was silent, unresponsive. There was another squeak of springs, the shuffle of movement as bodies shifted and the rustle of what Sirius assumed were sheets.

“Harry,” Draco continued after a moment. “Harry, look at me. You know I hate it when you don’t look at me.” He paused again, evidently awaiting Harry’s response to his request. Which Harry likely obliged, given he dropped his persistence. “It’s not a problem, Harry. It never will be. I’m dating you for _you_. Sirius doesn’t have anything to do with how I feel about you. And quite honestly, I sincerely doubt think he ever will.”

There was a huff of breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. It was followd by Harry’s chuckle which didn’t sound as amused as it perhaps should have been. “You’re being awfully generous tonight. What brought this on?”

“Hmm,” Draco hummed. “I wonder.”

Sirius would never know what made him look. All he knew was that, with the tone of Harry’s voice, with the murmur of Draco’s response, he simply had to see. Had to observe for himself the expressions that would accompany such words.

He shouldn’t have looked. Definitely, definitely shouldn’t have looked. And more than that, he should have withdrawn from the room upon seeing Harry and Draco, naked and intertwined with one another, wrapped like a pair of coiling snakes atop the bed sheets. Arms wrapped around necks, around shoulders and stroked skin. Legs curled around their fellows, around waist and locking on hips, toes gently stroking along an exposed calf.

And yet Sirius couldn’t look away from the bed directly opposite the door. For it was all in the expressions that the pair shared, and instantly, like an epiphany, Sirius understood what Remus had meant when he said that they were ‘in love’.

They might not have known it. Might not have realised it themselves, perhaps not even recognised the depth of affection in their mutual gazes, in their voices and in the gentleness they touched one another. But Sirius saw it all. He saw the smile curling Draco’s lips, a smile and not a smirk, and the way it crinkled the corners of his eyes as though he was genuinely happy as he gazed down at Harry lying beneath him. He saw the answering smile spreading across Harry’s face bethat faint almost-dimple that his father had shared shadowing his cheek, the complete trust that he held in the smoothness of his brow and his closed eyes. How he tilted his head just slightly when Draco leant forwards and unhooked his glasses from his face only to impress his lips onto his eyelids to the soft clink of the lenses falling to the floor.

It wasn’t passionate. It wasn’t heated, not like Sirius had always been with his partners. It was different entirely, from the gentle exchange of kisses to the stroke of Harry’s fingers across Draco’s bare back. Even when Draco slid his hands down Harry’s waist, drawing his fingers down his leg in a slow caress to slip behind Harry’s knee and hitch it more firmly around his waist, it was with the care afforded to the incredibly fragile, the breakable. As though Draco truly did believe that Harry was something that deserved gentleness and felt no qualms about affording him what was deserved.

It unfolded with the precision of a stage play, almost scripted in its fluidity. When Draco positioned himself between Harry’s legs, when his hips eased forwards and he thrust in slowly, almost carefully. When Harry uttered a moan that Sirius should _definitely_ not be listening to and left him faintly mortified to have overheard. And when they fell to one another, cleaving together in an embrace that should have made any love-making awkward yet somehow failed to do so. Harry wrapped his arms tightly around Draco’s back, in a mirror of the locking of his legs around his waist, and, eyes closed, lost himself to an utterance of groans and murmurs of “Draco”. His body seemed to respond reflexively, undulating beneath Draco and hips rising to meet the rhythmic thrusts of his love. Blind turns of his face met any inch of Draco’s exposed skin with a kiss.

To say that Draco lost himself would have been accurate, yet not in the way that Harry did. He was all careful, slow and methodical movements, as though he was struggling to maintain a semblance of order in his actions and not entirely succeeding. He leant closely over Harry, one arm propped to his side close enough to touch while the other wrapped gently but firmly around one of his thighs. He kept up a slow, steady pace with his thrusts, timing every second or third with a dropped impression of lips to Harry’s own, to his cheek, his neck, the side of his face. The only indication that he was on the verge of abandon was the occasional hitch in his pace, the ever-so-slight increase, and the sharp exhalations emitted in tandem with Harry’s moans in a sort of harmonic melody.

Sirius didn’t remember leaving the room. He wasn’t sure if he shut the door, if he made a scene and a fool of himself by failing to escape notice. He could have stumbled like an elephant down the hall, up the stairs and into his bedroom for all he knew.

He thought it unlikely, however, given that nearly an hour later he was still sitting in a state of stunned confusion on his bed, staring blankly at the opposite wall. No one had pursued him to accuse or demand answers for his actions.

He just… couldn’t seem to get those words, those tender expressions, out of his head. Harry, his _godson_ Harry, was in love? And Sirius truly hadn’t even noticed? And more than that, he was _in_ love. Because dislike him though he did, Sirius could not deny that what had been radiating so sincerely from Draco Malfoy’s face had been about as close to loving as Sirius had ever seen on anyone’s face.

Unexpected.

Surreal.

Flooring.

And it changed everything. Sirius had been blind – a blind fool – for not realising it before. For not understanding after speaking with Remus, with Hermione and Narcissa. From seeing the two boys together at every opportunity since Christmas.

How had he been so blind? Blinded indeed, by some misguided competitive streak. Because really, it was no competition at all. Not for Harry’s affections. Not in this.

And even if there had been, Draco would have certainly won, hands down. Sirius was not even in the same race.

 


	11. Day 11 – 08:15

Despite his largely and quite unexpectedly sleepless night, Sirius did not, as he had made a habit of doing, wake up in a bad mood.

Pensive. Pensive was a very good word to describe how he felt come Saturday morning.

He’d been staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, watching the sunlight peeking through the sliver exposed through his heavy curtains, when the knock came to his door. It was a quiet knock, almost but not quite tentative. Sirius’ eyes drew towards the doorway, staring momentarily before he pushed himself up to sitting on the edge of his bed. “Come in.”

The door opened slowly, hinges creaking like a groaning old man. Harry peered through, fingers picking at the frame as he propped a hand against it. He was already dressed and ready for the day, in the casual yet actually appropriately fitted Muggle clothing style he’d taken to wearing of late, hair as unkempt as ever. The only thing that was missing were his shoes, only a pair of white socks in their place. It was likely why Sirius hadn’t heard him coming up the stairs at all. He usually had the ears of a fox for that kind of thing.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Harry adopted a casual lean against the doorframe. “Morning. I wasn’t sure if you were still asleep. You weren’t down at breakfast, even though you’re usually up early, so I figured…”

“No, I’m awake.” Sirius scuffed a hand through his hair, striving to adopt an expression of morning dopiness despite feeling no such haziness. “What’s up? Something wrong?”

The shake of Harry’s head wasn’t entirely heartfelt in its denial. “No, nothing wrong.”

A brief silence ensued as Sirius paused. “But?”

“But… I just wanted to talk to you about something. Just for a second.” Harry was fiddling with his hands, with the hem of his t-shirt in a way that Sirius had come to realise was the combined effects of awkwardness and nervousness. In an attempt to alleviate even a little of such fears, he strove to smooth his features and keep them open and unassuming. Or at least as open as he could. “Sure. Fire away, kiddo.”

Harry gave him a grateful half-smile that quirked slightly in his uneasiness before dropping his eyes to his toes. “Thanks. So, um… so. I just wanted to talk to you about Draco. If you don’t mind.”

 _Here it is_ , Sirius thought. Just as he’d anticipated a confrontation between himself and Draco, so too had he expected one with Harry. Perhaps not quite a confrontation but certainly a conversation. An airing of thoughts. Given his own perspective on the matter, Sirius had held his tongue in wait for Harry to be the one to initiate such a conversation. Mostly because he felt it more than likely that he would lead with the words, “So, about your arsehole of a boyfriend,” which he didn’t think would go down all that well.

Sirius had wanted to talk to Harry nonetheless, however. Had hoped that Harry would actually broach the subject sooner. He’d wanted to state his stance, to give his reasons as to why he felt so dubiously of the situation. To ask how Harry had disregarded the past he’d shared with Draco, the past of the Malfoys themselves and their allegiance to Voldemort. He could not fathom how Harry had overcome such monumental barriers to a relationship and had longed to ask – to demand – his reasoning.

Now… he wasn’t so sure where he stood. The previous night had changed Sirius’ perspective quite unexpectedly, drawn it in directions he couldn’t have anticipated. And it wasn’t because of any explanation he’d overheard. It wasn’t because he’d become instantly convinced that Draco was a good person, that he’d never truly been ‘evil’ and never truly would be. It wasn’t even because he’d come to realise that his role in what Harry and Draco shared was far removed from what he had unconsciously suspected. That it wasn’t that Draco was pulling Harry away from his friends, from Sirius, to covet him like a miserly dragon does his gold. Because apparently Sirius didn’t even factor into the equation at all.

No, his stance had been so changed because of what he’d heard and how it had sounded. Not the words themselves, exactly, but the meaning behind them. The tone of voice and the affection interlaced within it. And following that, the gentleness of each touch, the soft adoration that Sirius doubted even the boys had fully realised they so easily expressed, the simple yet immensely complicated act of lovemaking. Not sex; it had definitely been making love that Sirius had witnessed.

And in witnessing it, Sirius had felt almost criminal. The act itself was so private, so intimate, that it practically forbade the rest of the world from peeking with onlooking eyes. Sirius felt physically thrust from his position as observer, and not because he felt ashamed at an act that some would consider horrendously voyeuristic of him. Sirius wasn’t a prude; quite the opposite in fact. He’d always been very open with his relationships and sex life, ever since he’d lost his early teenage years. It probably helped that he had such an avid partner in crime – or at least an avid listener and appreciator – in James. Voyeur he would not say he was, but neither was Sirius ashamed to admit that he’d once kept quite an admirable collection of porn magazines too.

No, it wasn’t embarrassment that drove Sirius hastily to his room like a scolded dog. It was simply… he’d felt he was intruding by staying. Not to mention that watching his godson doing the dirty was kind of messed up. Even if, he admitted to himself, there wasn’t really anything all that dirty about it. He’d never seen, nor experienced for himself, a less kinky act of physical intimacy in his entire life. Quite honestly, that reality astounded Sirius as much as anything. He’d always sort of considered, somewhere in the back of his mind, in the part that simply made assumptions without waiting for his conscious input, that Harry and Draco would be sort of… well, volatile. Heated, and angry and aggressive. At least teasing and bantering, light-hearted and pursuing pleasure simply for the act itself.

He hadn’t anticipated _that._ There was a very real affection between the two and, dare he consider himself a mimic of Remus’ words, even possibly love. No, Sirius had certainly not seen that coming.

It was with his revised mindset that he approached the long-awaited conversation. And surprisingly, even to himself with his knowledge of that change, it wasn’t accusation of Draco’s potential for civility that arose on the tip of his tongue first. “Is it all going alright?”

Harry blinked, back straightening slightly and even his tugging fingers pausing in the act of their nervous fiddling. “What?”

“You and Draco. All smooth sailing?”

“I… yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.” Harry frowned. It was an expression of thoughtful confusion, however, rather than accusation or even annoyance.

“Not a problem, then?”

Slowly, Harry shook his head. Even more slowly, his frown began to clear. “No, not a problem. I just…” He paused to lick his lips. “I guess I just wanted to… to thank you. Yeah, thank you, I guess.”

Eyebrows rising, Sirius was momentarily silenced into surprise. “Thank me?”

Harry was more resolute in his stance now. When he nodded his head it was with decisiveness, sharp and swift. “Yeah. I mean… look, I don’t want to sound like a sentimental prat or anything –“

“Never,” Sirius said with a grin. Harry flashed him a smile back.

“Yeah, well. I mean, I know it’s kind of awkward between the two of you. Seriously, I’m not that much of an idiot that I haven’t realised you… don’t like each other.”

“That’s an understatement.

Harry smiled once more, though it was a little regretfully this time. “Yeah, I know. It makes it… kind of awkward, I guess. Especially seeing as he’s been practically living in your house this holidays. I just…” He paused, and the glance he offered to Sirius was faintly sad once more. “I wanted to say that I really appreciate how great you’ve been with it all. Really.”

Sirius was silenced. Despite the stumbling nature of his words, there was a certain maturity in Harry’s approach. Not even so much that he acknowledged and sought to voice his acknowledgement of Sirius’ supposed leniency, his ‘kindness’ but that he overlooked all of the times that Sirius very definitely hadn’t been so. Because those instances, those days, certainly outweighed those in which he’d simply strived to ignore Draco. Because ignore was about as generous a term as Sirius could attribute to his behaviour. Now, in hindsight and as abruptly mellowed as he was about the situation, he could see it. Could see those attempts to ignore Draco had been little more than an alternate and more passive form of aggression. That he was only replacing one form of discontent with another.

Sirius didn’t like Draco Malfoy. He never would. But he could appreciate that there was certainly something between Harry and the Malfoy scion that he hadn’t realised. Something that had, he’d realised in his pondering throughout the night, been large enough and important enough to drive Draco’s shift in loyalties that Narcissa had referred. Something that had made him, if not kinder, than at least less cruel, and capable of showing slight affection for Harry. Maybe even more than slight. And Sirius had realised, too, that such a lessening in cruelty, Draco’s almost cordial attitude, hadn’t abruptly arisen after he’d said he would act as such to Sirius two days before.

Draco really hadn’t changed at all since he’d spoken to Sirius. It was all simply in Sirius’ perspective. And Sirius was both self-deprecating and faintly exasperated that he’d been fool enough not to realise it before.

So no, Draco would never be his favourite person in the world. Would likely never even make his list of those he found tolerable enough to enjoy the company of. But tolerate he would. Because for Harry, at least, he needed to.

Shaking his head, Sirius dropped his own gaze to his hands. His fingers interlocked, rubbing against one another in slow, contemplative motions. “You don’t have to thank me, Harry.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe not _have_ to, but I want to all the same. I really appreciate it, Sirius. I do.”

“You’re giving me too much credit.”

Another shrug from Harry. “You could see it that way. Or you could see it as acknowledging that you’ve been pretty lenient when I’ve kind of forced you into a corner with my own decisions.”

Sirius’ lips quivered in the beginnings of a smile. How accurate such a description was. He lifted his gaze to meet Harry’s. “Maybe. Then, in that case, I accept your gratitude, unfounded as it is.” He paused, frowning slightly. The urge to voice his thoughts was rising in the back of his throat, even when he wasn’t sure how Harry would respond. An instant later his tongue spoke for him, regardless. “You know, Harry, this house is as much yours as mine. I do consider you a part of my family, you know. Probably the only one I have left.”

Quite without his deliberate intent, Sirius found himself mimicking the words he’d overheard the previous night. He could see by the startled expression Harry adopted that he’d realised the same, even if he didn’t know that Sirius was aware that his thoughts mirrored his own.

Not to feel embarrassed or regretful for speaking them, however, Sirius firmed his jaw and continued. “What’s mine is yours, you know. You should feel able to bring anyone you want into this house without fear of reprimand, least of all from me. Even if that person is a Malfoy.”

Harry stared at him silently for a moment. Sirius felt himself tense under that study but didn’t continue, letting his words sink in. At least Harry wasn’t fiddling awkwardly anymore, didn’t appear eager to hasten from the room at the first opportunity. His confusion faded into something else that Sirius couldn’t recognise. Until he did. Gratitude. Heartfelt gratitude. It was almost embarrassing to see, to be to recipient of such genuine thanks.

“That really means a lot, Sirius,” Harry finally said. The widening smile on his face was everything Sirius had been hoping to invoke over the past few days. Genuine joy to accompany his genuine thanks.

Sirius shrugged, brushing aside the awkwardness. “Don’t thank me yet. You’re my godson, and as such I see it as my duty to ensure that you don’t get hurt by some arsehole of a boyfriend.”

As he’d intended it to, Sirius’ light-hearted words succeeded in lightening the heavy mood. Harry groaned, closing his eyes as though pained for a moment though his smile still remained. “Please no.”

            “No, really. It’s my responsibility. One sideways word, one backstabbing, undercover act of unfaithfulness and,” Sirius made a moderated kicking motion in the air. “Right up the arse.”

            “Draco is really not likely to do that,” Harry shook his head, meeting Sirius’ gaze with dancing amusement in his own. “I know everyone generally thinks he’s a tosser, but I really couldn’t see him cheating on me.”

            Smiling a little ruefully, Sirius shook his head. “You know, oddly enough I think I can believe you on that one. Honestly, I couldn’t see it given how lovey-dovey you two are with one another.”

            Harry raised an eyebrow, seemingly torn between bemusement and horrified incredulity. “Love-dovey?”

His smile becoming teasing, Sirius raised a mimicking eyebrow. “I’d have thought it to be a bit more of a battle of wills between you, considering your past. Love-to-hate and all that.”

            Harry smirked back at him. “Oh, there’s plenty of that, I can assure you. We just tend to take our competitiveness and frustration with one another with angry sex.”

            There was a pause. A small pause that grew longer and longer. Until Harry apparently finally realised what he’d said – or perhaps to whom he’d said it – and mortification flooded that silence.

            Sirius found himself laughing. His incredulity, the surprise that had stilled his tongue dissolved into disbelieving snorts of merriment. He would _never_ have expected Harry, James’ Harry, blunt and guileless yet ultimately innocent, to have come out with such a statement.

            “Oh my god, too much information,” Harry mumbled. Or Sirius thought that was what he said. He couldn’t quite make it out from behind the fingers that didn’t quite manage to hide the fiery red flush of embarrassment on his godson’s cheeks.

            “On the contrary, not enough!” Sirius laughed. “Please, do go on. Don’t spare me the details. Trust me, I’ve absolutely no judgement for what goes on in the bedroom; your dad and I used to exchange tales of exploits as a matter of course.”

            He laughed harder, nearly falling backwards onto his mattress as Harry groaned in a further expression of horror and turned to butt his head into the doorway. Again and again in heavy thuds. “Please, my ears. I didn’t want to hear that.”

            “I would be more than prepared to share my own stories, if you’d like,” Sirius offered between barks of amusement.

Hands dropping from his face to reveal cheeks still flushed and eyes wide behind his glasses, Harry half turned and uttered a choked sound. “I… you’d… you mean…”

“There was this one girl when I was in fifth year,” Sirius began. And that was apparently as much as Harry could take. A second later he was gone. Quite contrary to his quite approach of the room, he fled in a stumbling run, disappearing down the hall and clattering down the distant stairs. The afterimage of his horrified face hung suspended in the air behind him like a spectre.

Shaking his head, Sirius allowed himself to fall back onto his bed this time. Releasing a heavy sigh, shoulders still trembling with laughter his eyes drifted to the ceiling. And even though Harry had disappeared and Sirius’ amusement gradually faded, his good humour remained. Surprisingly, he registered. He hadn’t been in a terrible mood despite sleeping barely a wink the night before, but a week ago he knew that any discussion he shared with Harry regarding Draco – more than that, Harry’s intimacy with Draco – would have ended either badly or with barely suppressed discontent. Sirius was, as Remus had called it, brooding. But it was not a sulking brood. More… contemplative.

As though conjured by a thought, Remus stepped into the doorway. He was still dressed in a nightrobe thrown over patched pyjamas, still rubbing sleepiness from his eyes. He’d likely just rolled from the bed in Regulus’ old room that he’d adopted and hadn’t fully awoken yet. But there was a faint smile rising on his face, as though the humour of the morning had infected him. “What was all that about?”

Rolling onto his side, Sirius adopted a casual expression, head propped up on one hand. “What are you referring to?”

“I refer to the stampede that just disappeared down the hallway. I doubt anyone in the house managed to sleep through that except perhaps Tonks.”

“Tonks spent the night?” Sirius asked, deliberately diverting the topic.

Remus wasn’t fooled. “Sirius? What did you do?”

Rolling back onto his back, Sirius shrugged. He couldn’t keep the grin from returning to his face, however. It had been an incredibly good morning after a not-so-good night; a good, albeit brief conversation with Harry that had ended in laughter, even if it was mostly from Sirius. The day was looking up. Finally. It was about time that a positive light was cast upon one of his days that Christmas. “Nothing much. Just having some fun.”

Remus’ smile grew. “Really? That’s…”

“Remus? Shut up.”

Chuckling, Remus shook his head. “I wasn’t going to point out the obvious. It is, after all, obvious.”

“Good. If you’ve finished, you can see yourself out, then.”

With another chuckle, another shake of his head, Remus did just that. And Sirius was left to his contemplation, a satisfied smile upon his face. No, he might never like Draco Malfoy, but all things considered, it wasn’t so bad. Harry was certainly happy enough, and that was the important thing. Right?


	12. Day 12 – 12:32

The dining table groaned under the combined cooking efforts of Mrs Weasley and Kreacher. Molly, finally putting her foot down and ploughing through the grumbles and exclamations of discontent from the ancient house elf that _he_ was the primary cook of the household, had arrived half an hour before lunch with a trail of bowls and steaming dishes floating behind her. A feast, she’d said, as a feast should be. For instead of a dinner celebration, the temporary residents of Grimmauld Place would be sharing drink and good food to farewell the school-aged members of their company before they left the next day.

            It was, as was customary for any meal with the Weasley family, a raucous affair. Sirius, though he found he rather enjoyed the excessive noise, the babbles of indiscernible conversation broken by louder exclamations and bursts of laughter, had always found it hard to get a word in edgewise. He could see from the expression on Remus’ face at the other end of the table that his friend felt similarly, though Tonks at his side seemed to slot herself into pace with the craziness with ease, nearly sending Ginny toppling from her chair in hysterical giggles over something or other.

            The dining room was not quite as cluttered for space as it had been at Christmas, but even so it was a full enough house. Molly skirted the table more often than she sat down to eat her fill, filling up bowls and unnecessarily slicing at the roast lamb that served as the centrepiece and ignoring Remus’ thanks and repeated suggestions to “Please seat yourself”. Arthur barely even seemed to notice, evidently much used to his wife’s bustling, and was instead engrossed in a conversation with the twins; Fred and George had taken an hour or two off from the shop, leaving it in the capable hands of their latest employee and old school friend Lee Jordan to partake of their mother’s cooking. They were apparently discussing some of the latest inclusions of Muggle artefacts in their wares that their father found fascinating.

A little further along the table, Hermione and Ron were locked in a fierce argument about something or other that Sirius hadn’t bothered to listen out for. Whatever it was, Hermione seemed to be winning and as such Ron had taken the approach of nonchalance and disregard, assuming a thoroughly bored countenance while filling his mouth more excessively that a chipmunk. Harry, seated alongside his friend, had adopted a faintly baffled expression as he observed Hermione’s wild gesticulations and increasingly flushed cheeks. Draco, as always right next to him, looked… amused? And faintly satisfied. The smirk on his lips was firmly affixed, though Sirius hazarded that there was little maliciousness in that expression now. Not even a hint of disgust directed towards Hermione for her ‘Mudblood’ heritage.

Had he only just demonstrated such a distancing from his usual prejudices? Or was it just that Sirius was only just realised it now? He couldn’t be altogether sure.

“Sirius?”

Glancing to his left, Sirius almost started at the unexpected and entirely unwelcome figure of Mundungus at his side huddled at his side. The scrappy little wizard, shoulders hunched beneath the loudly patterned shoulders of his jacket as though expecting a blow, rung his hands like he would a dishcloth. His eyes as always darted nervously about himself. Sighing, Sirius lowered his knife and fork. “What is it, Dung?”

Shifting uncomfortably, gaze drifting with their eternal wariness towards Sirius, the man cleared his throat wetly. Sirius fought to hide his distaste. “I’s been sent from Mad-Eye, I has. Says he’d got some more intel for you on Lestrange, if you’re keen. Would like to talk to you this afternoon if you’ve got a moment.”

Eyebrows rising in interest, Sirius sucked distractedly at a piece of lamb caught between his teeth. “That so?”

“Mmhm,” Mundungus nodded rapidly. His eyes swept around the room once more, scanning for Sirius could only guess at what. He had to wonder if it was simply a nervous tick of the man’s or if he truly suspected an attack to come flying at him from nowhere. “Just at your earliest convenience, like.”

Nodding, Sirius deliberately turned from the little man and hefted his knife and fork once more. He felt no hesitancy in disregarding him after he’d delivered his message; Mundungus deserved each and every menial task he got after his botch up in Greenwich two weeks ago that had nearly gotten himself and the Dedalus Diggle killed for his stupidity. Moody was doing right by using him as a runner. Maybe he’d try a little harder next time, act a little less foolishly. “Right. Thanks for that, Dung. I’ll pop over after lunch.”

Another three bites into his meal and Sirius became aware that Harry had turned his attention to him curiously. He raised an eyebrow to his godson quizzically. “Something wrong?”

Harry shook his head. “Nope. Nothing. Just wondering what that was all about.”

Sirius glanced to his side, to the now-absent spot of air where Mundungus had stood. “You mean Dung?” At Harry’s nod of affirmation, he shrugged. “Nothing much. Just asking me to swing by and see Moody after lunch to pick up some intel. Apparently my house arrest is temporarily alleviated when it suits _some_ people.” He kept his tone mocking to hide his disgruntlement for the fact.

“Intel? Order stuff?”

Quite without meaning to, Sirius cast a quick glance along the table for eavesdroppers. It wasn’t like there was anyone’s presence to object to; pretty much all of those seated at the table were in the loop already. And most of them were ignoring Sirius and Harry’s conversation entirely. In fact, the only one who even appeared to be listening with half an ear was Draco, with Ron and Hermione still ignoring and fuming respectively. Sirius paused at that, his usual misgivings as to the true loyalties of the boy arising, but he struggled to dismiss them. Struggled hard, but manage he did.

      _Don’t start this again,_ he coached himself. _Stave off the habit. I can’t keep suspecting the kid anymore. It wouldn’t be fair to Harry._ And with such a resolution, he turned from the listening blonde and gave his sole attention to Harry. “Moody’s apparently found something on Lestrange.”

“Bellatrix?” Harry asked, his face hardening. After Sirius’ close encounter he too had developed a seething hatred for the woman.

Sirius nodded, chewing on a wedge of potato. “I don’t want to get my hopes up, but there’s a possibility we’ve narrowed it down a bit over the past few weeks. The reports McGonagall sent me the other day suggested we were close to finding a lead.” He gave a grim smile. “Hopefully, Merlin willing, we’ll be able to pin the bitch and finally nail her to the ground.”

It was only after the words had escaped his mouth that Sirius noticed the increased attentiveness of Draco in the full turn of his head. His immediate thought was negative – the little shit really _was_ a double-faced traitor – until he noticed the slight frown of thoughtfulness on the young man’s brow. Thoughtfulness and something else.

And Sirius abruptly realised, even felt a hint of remorse at the realisation, that this was Draco’s aunt that he was talking about.

Chewing the last of his potato and swallowing thickly, Sirius hardened himself. He had to do it, to speak the words that needed to be said next. Every urge within him was screaming to smirk satisfyingly or, if not that, then to at least overlook the offense with feigned ignorance. That wasn’t the resolve he’d set himself over the last day, however. That wasn’t the best he could do for Harry.

“Um… S… Sorry about that. No offence intended.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing personal, Draco.”

The startled blink and subsequent failure to hide the delighted smile that flashed briefly across Harry’s face made his struggles well worth the effort. Even if it did hurt like a physical pain in Sirius’ chest to do so. He fought the urge to disgorge the contents of his stomach and turned expectantly towards Draco. _If I’ve taken a step forwards the least you could do is meet me halfway, you bastard_ , he thought. Uncharitably, he knew, but he wasn’t feeling particularly charitable at the moment. His disagreeable stomach forbade such generosity.

And Draco, damn him, didn’t look unsettled in the slightest. Quite the opposite, a passing observer may have supposed that he was witness to such displays from Sirius on a regular basis. He simply inclined his head in a regal nod. “None taken.” And he turned back to his dinner.

The sodding bastard.

It was only slightly quelling to see Harry’s smile widen further, even if he did direct it towards his half-eaten lunch rather than either possible recipients for his attention.

Before Sirius could dwell too greatly on the matter, however, there was a disruption a little way down the table. The source of that disruption readily became apparent with a moment’s study. And Sirius, feeling a smile spread across his own face, settled his cutlery down in eagerness for the show. He noticed with a brief glance around the table that he wasn’t the only one watching attentively.

Ron, his cheeks still bloated with lunch, was frozen in the act of leaning down to splutter a request through said food onto the mildly disgusted, upturned face of Kreacher beside his chair. The cause for his immobility lay in the looming, red-faced Hermione as she leaned across the table and shook her finger at him.

“Ron, you will _not_ ask Kreacher to cook you up an entire chicken just because you ‘think it might go nicely with the stew’. He is _not_ your slave. For goodness sake, isn’t there enough food on offer already?”

Ron struggled to swallow enough that his reply would be intelligible. When he finally managed, he replied with arms raised in placation. “Look, ‘ermione. ‘Snot like he really minds or anything. I mean, look at ‘im, ‘e loves to cook! And Mum took away ‘is opportunity and all –“

“He does _not_ love to act on your every beck and call,” Hermione fumed. She turned gentle eyes upon the house elf, who only scowled back up at her. It was disconcerting to see, the tenderness in her gaze so quickly replacing anger. “It’s okay, Kreacher, you don’t have to do anything he asks.”

Kreacher was obviously torn, and Sirius knew exactly why. The little cretin was at odds deciding which order would be less disagreeable to him; acting on the request of a ‘blood traitor’ and cooking up the unnecessary extra food or bowing down to the suggestion of a ‘Mudblood’ and doing nothing. It was a dilemma that the stooped, ancient elf was evidently struggling with.

“He likes doing it, though. That’s what house elves _like doing.”_

“Only because they’ve been brainwashed to think that way.”

“Doesn’t change anything. He still wants to do it!”

“Doesn’t change -?! It changes absolutely everything! How could you even say that?!”

The pair descended into explosive argument, drowning out even the laughing conversation of Ginny and Tonks at the other end of the table. Molly had stopped in the act of rising from her chair, caught between speaking to reprimand and stuttering at a loss. Even the largely dismissive Arthur had turned his attention to the two of them. It was like a stage show being played out in the middle of the table.

One that Sirius was thoroughly enjoying. Even more so when Hermione turned abruptly towards him and enveloped him as an active participant. “Sirius, tell Kreacher he doesn’t have to do what Ron says. Tell him. He’d listen more to you than he would to me.”

Sirius shrugged, leaning back in his seat with casual thoughtfulness. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“Sirius, _please_.”

“Honestly, Hermione, I doubt Kreacher would listen to me anymore than he would to you. And besides,” he tipped his head towards Ron. “Ron’s got a point. House elves actually do like working. Call it weird or wrong or whatever, but they do.”

“Cheers, mate,” Ron said, hailing him with a fork loaded in broccoli.

“You are both disgusting,” Hermione seethed, though Sirius could tell that her anger came more frustration than genuine disgust. “Where do you get off thinking like you do?”

“I’m a pureblood. Blame my upbringing.”

“Most purebloods are actually raised to think as much about house elves…”

There was a brief quell in the conversation as all eyes turned to Sirius and Draco. For surprisingly it was Draco that had spoken almost in sync with Sirius. Almost synchronous and almost exactly the same in sentiment. By Harry’s rekindled grin, one that he didn’t even bother trying to hide, he’d very much noticed it too.

Sirius affixed Draco with a stare. And Draco stared straight back at him. A thousand words, of threats and repentance, of warnings and acknowledgments, passed between them in a matter of seconds. Then, by unspoken agreement, they broke their gaze and turned back to their temporary audience. Even Hermione appeared to have put her anger on hold for the moment. She snapped her gaze to Draco as he spoke. “You can hardly blame purebloods for the standards that have been drilled into them from birth, Hermione,” he began, and subsequently continued to rationalise his side of the argument. In self-defence, naturally, as though it was he Hermione had directed her disgust towards. It didn’t take long for her to rear her head once more and fall to objections at the very notion itself.

Sirius didn’t listen. After a brief struggle with the urge to stand up and punch Draco in the face for the mortifying embarrassment that arose at their like-mindedness, he set about polishing off his plate with single-minded determination. And when he’d finished, he felt able to lift his gaze without staring daggers at Draco.

And he met Harry’s eyes once more. Harry, who didn’t look to have turned away from him since he’d shared words and an entire unspoken conversation with Draco, despite the increasingly raucous debate ensuing between Hermione, Draco and Ron. A debate which spilled over to include Molly as she attempted to quieten them and the twins as they sought to only increase the madness with suggestive and unhelpful comments.

Harry was smiling. Smiling with that consideration, with that gratitude that Sirius didn’t deserve. But even undeserving as it was, Sirius appreciated it. And even hating Draco for the happenstance of his words, he felt an iota of appreciation that it had occurred in spite of it.

For anything that could make Harry that happy couldn’t be such a bad thing. Sirius could put up with Draco Malfoy if he had to. He could and he would. He’d commit himself to making his godson happy if it meant cutting off the extra limb that was his pride.

It would sting, but he could do it. And maybe after a while, that sting would even disappear. Because there were certainly more important things, things of greater priority, to consider. And one of them was making sure that Harry kept smiling for as long as he could.

In the state the world was in, it needed every glimmer of happiness it could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading and sticking it out throughout the entire story! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did - or even if you didn't - I'd love to hear your thoughts. If you have a second to comment, I'd greatly appreciate it.


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